Summer Lightning
by Celebdil
Summary: On the march into the West, Elu Thingol, king of the Teleri, and his young kinsman Celeborn fight both the minions of Morgoth and their desire for one another. Slash; First-Time.
1. Chapter 1

* * *

The wind howled, flattening Elu's rain-slicked hair wetly against his neck and shoulders as he pushed through the tangled undergrowth. Lightning seared the sky. Terrifying in its intensity, it was yet a pale echo of the terror that pounded in his heart, surged through his veins. 

Calm, he had to be calm. Somewhere in this violent storm lay the one he sought and losing his head would not avail either of them. Leaning a hand on the rough bark of a tree, panting slightly - fear shortening his breath in a way that exertion did not - he stopped. 

How had his happened, he wondered, memories overcoming him. It had started so innocently, in confusion and desire... 

***** 

The air was warm and hazy, filled with the soporific hum of insects, the stars above like many coloured flames, hot and bright against the mist-streaked indigo sky . 

His people were tired, and the glade they walked through surpassing beautiful, so Elu called an early halt to the march, decreeing they would make camp here, though it was yet early, and they might have made many miles more. 

There were no objections. Elu watched from the back of his horse as the Elves eagerly began setting up camp, excited by the brief respite. He smiled; expecting singing tonight at the campfires, as the Elves rejoiced in the Valar-given summer and the rest, however brief, from their journeying . His heart clenched a little at the ease with which they went about the task, the familiarity with which they retrieved essential items from packs and travois to create temporary camps; he wished with all the longing his heart could muster for a permanent home for them. They had been travelling so long. 

The bright sound of a youth's laughter jerked him from his sadness. The air shimmered with it, and all nearby raised their heads to see what had amused their young Prince so. Elu felt himself react to the sound, even while he tried not to turn to where his kinsman was helping a family raise the shelter under which their children would sleep in case of a summer storm. 

Not that there would be a storm tonight, Elu thought, looking up at a sky filled with the blazing rivers of Northern Lights, shattering in their purity. 

Deliberately, he distracted himself, trying to delay looking in the direction the others were staring, knowing that the sight would make his heart ache more than all the veils of light in Arda could ever do. Around him the elves laughed softly at whatever Celeborn was doing. 

_Celeborn._ Never would he be able to taste that name in his mouth as the sensual caress he now uttered in his mind. He closed his eyes, an image of the beauty that was the young Elf coming unbidden to taunt him with innocent allure, heartbreaking temptation. Celeborn was silver fire, his unconsious appeal edged and dangerous as a blade of obsidian. To think of him was to be cut. 

Elu's horse moved beneath him. Absently, he soothed the animal, fingers stroking the smooth neck as he wished desperately for another smoothness under his hand. His fingers tangled in his mount's mane, and it was so coarse compared to the heavy silk of Celeborn's mithril fall of hair. 

Elu recalled how that hair had looked in the midst of a meteor storm. They had been bathing in a nearby river several nights ago, one of the storms arcing overhead. The glory of the heavens had been lost on Elu as he watched that hair, shining dark in shadow, clinging wetly to Celeborn's slender back and shoulders, flaring into radience with each bright fire-trail across the sky. He had trembled with the need to reach out, to lift a strand of the liquid silver away from Celeborn's throat where it clung in a damp curl. He had actually raised a hand, before he realised what he was doing, only to snatch it back even as the prince had turned to him, half-smiling at something one of the others had said. 

Seeing the tight expression on Elu's face, Celeborn's smile had faded. He had reached out to lay a slender hand on Elu's bare shoulder, 'My Lord? Are you well?' 

Elu had closed his eyes, feeling the warm voice wash over him, chasing the chill of the water from his body. His entire world had narrowed to the small area of fire where Celeborn's hand lay innocently on his heavily muscled shoulder. The sound of his kinsman's voice was a dark heat in his mind, a brush of velvet against his thoughts. 

Opening his eyes, he had found himself staring into Celeborn's concerned green gaze. And for a moment his breath had caught. For a moment, a fleeting space, there had been something in the younger Elf's expression, something other then mere concern, something that made Elu's heart pound, instantly heating his blood. The icy water lapping around their thighs had seemed warm, after, holding its own tantalising caress. 

Then Celeborn's lashes had swept down and when they lifted, it was gone, and the clear gaze held only concern and faint curiosity. 

'I am well.' He cleared his throat - his voice had taken on an unwelcome huskiness - 'I am merely tired. As are we all.' 

Looking into Celeborn's eyes he had been relieved when they did not narrow in suspicion or disbelief. Inwardly, he berated himself for a fool. _He must not know. Oh Valar! He is in my care. My nephew's son, entrusted to me to teach. Not to take advantage._ So he warned himself against his forbidden longing, the hopeless desire he could not prevent. It was not possible, this attraction he felt for his young kinsman, it was wrong. And, he told himself resolutely, it would not be. 

He had smiled, holding his breath as the younger elf hesitated, about to speak. But then Celeborn changed his mind, nodded his water darkened head in acceptance of Elu's words. His fingers had tightened briefly on Elu's shoulder in a gesture of acknowledgement and farewell before he had moved away. At the innocent caress Elu almost groaned, watching with a hunger he could barely conceal as Celeborn moved. 

Starlight reflected from the water, and flickered in dripping silver over the warm cream of the young Elf's skin, outlining the elegant curve of his back, playing over the flex of firm buttocks as he walked away. A quiet sob of sheer desire escaped Elu and he looked aside, fighting to control the rising heat in his face and his loins. He bit his lip, hard, tasted blood where his teeth had pierced the skin. He would master this, he must. 

A light touch on his knee startled him out of his reverie, and he cursed himself, yet again. Attempting not to stare at whatever it was Celeborn was doing, he had instead fallen into lustful memories. Could he not think of other things, even for a moment? 

He looked down into the pale blue eyes of one of his warriors, 'Look my Lord!' the Elf exclaimed, pointing across the glade. Reluctantly Elu followed the gesture and despite his anguish, he had to stifle a surge of spontaneous laughter at what he saw. 

Lit by the green and gold light of the Aurora, Celeborn lay on his back in the leaves which covered the clearing. He was barely visible under several children who had ambushed him, felling their young Lord and climbing on top of him, imprisoning him beneath their small bodies. They were squealing with delight as Celeborn growled in mock anger, picked them up and dangled them in the air. They tried to subdue him, shaking with giggles as they sat on his arms and legs, yelling in triumph. 

All around, Elves had stopped to watch the game, and their mirth was a balm to Elu's heart. His guilt eased a little. They had journeyed long, into a strange future, with no surety but his word that Aman would be worth the labour. Many of them followed him not for the promise of distant Valinor, but simply for his own sake, because they trusted him, loved him. Sometimes it was hard to see them work and strive thus for him and not feel overwhelmingly responsible. 

Gratitude towards Celeborn for this moment of lightness mingled with the painful desire the memory had engendered and Elu let out his breath on a slow, controlled sigh, even as he smiled in amusement at the sight. The boy was so alive, so unburdened by the cares of age or status. Irresponsible; full of joy. 

Suddenly Celeborn ceased his growling, went limp. In instinctive concern Elu started to dismount, fear snaking through him, and he was not the only one. Around him, several of the others moved forward. The children stopped squealing and peered down into the face of their victim, eyes wide with concern. Then all their fears were allayed and the children shrieked in delight as their victim snapped opened his ryes and grabbed them, surging from the ground and swinging them round, throwing them up and catching them in arms made powerful by hours at practice with axe and bow. 

Elu laughed along with the others, ignoring the painful tightening of his body as Celeborn's warm laugh, a deeper counterpoint to the shrieks of the children, washed over his body in warm waves of sound. 

The younger Elf looked up, and, seeing him watching along with the others, carefully righted the helplessly giggling girl he was holding by one ankle, setting her on her feet. With a gentle push he sent her back to her mother, who reached out to her child, her eyes holding the Prince's with approval. 

He too they loved well, Elu thought, as Celeborn bowed to the Elf woman with elegance and charm made all the more appealing for his lack of awareness of it. Happily married and devoted to her mate, the Elf woman still blushed a little despite herself under the warm green gaze. And why should she not, when this youngest scion of Elu's house was so very... He bit the thought off, furious at himself. 

Then Celeborn turned that look on him, laughter like a fountain in the depths of his eyes, lips parted on a careless grin. Elu forced himself to lift a hand in acknowledgement, knowing they were in full view of many of his people, while his heart and body reeled in response. 

Picking his way carefully through Elves who were now returning to the business of setting up camp, Celeborn walked towards him. Elu waited and watched him come closer, stopping occasionally to talk with a family, to exchange words with a warrior, to absently ruffle the hair of a child who clung to his leg as he talked easily with her parents. 

As he listened to the words of a husband and wife who had stilled him a moment to air some small complaint, a young Elf-woman ran up to him, her hands full of summer blooms. Laughing ,she tucked one into his silver hair, standing on tip toes and placing an exuberant kiss on his cheek. Celeborn turned, startled, as the couple smirked. Then he grinned and picked the young woman up in his arms, whirling her round, both of them laughing from the sheer delight of the day. Her hair fell around his face and Elu felt his fingers tighten on the reins as Celeborn returned her kiss with interest. 

It did not mean anything, Elu thought, it was simply an expression of the sudden lightness which had gripped all the company. Around the pair, folk wore expressions of amused indulgence. It meant nothing, Elu told himself again, disconcerted at the surge of ugly jealousy which rose unbidden in him, jealousy he had no right to feel. 

Celeborn set the maiden on her feet and she twirled away from him. Playfully, he reached out to her. She spun round, filled his hands with the blooms she held. He lifted them to his face, breathing in their scent and then held them to his heart in a pretend gesture of undying love. Elu heard the light shimmer of her amusement as with a final smile, she danced away, and Celeborn once more resumed his path to Elu. 

Moments later, he stood at Elu's knee, laughter still lurking in the depths of his holly green gaze. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He buried his face in the flowers again and then reached up to secure the bloom more firmly behind his ear. 

'Suilad, my Lord!' he grinned up at Elu, unrepentant, 'It would seem your decision to halt early this day has brought on high spirits!' 

And, despite everything, Elu could not help but respond to the happiness lighting Celeborn's heartbreakingly beautiful face. 'Aye, so it would seem,' he said, and smiled back. 

* * *

Notes: This is set during the March into the West, when the Eldar answered the summons of the Valar to go to Valinor. So far the only elves who have ever gone to Valinor are Elu, Finwe and Ingwe. There is no sun or moon. The elves are in their Stone Age in terms of technology. And the Teleri (Elu's people) have not yet even come into Beleriand. All of that stuff is still a long time in the future. 


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

At the rich depth of Elu Thingol's voice Celeborn caught his breath, struggling to subdue the shiver of excitement that chased down his spine. Feeling himself flush, he buried his face in the blooms he held, looked away at the busy scene of activity which now filled the glade. 

Why must he always be so... so confused whenever Elu was near, so unbearably aware of Elu's power, the heat of his body, its strength, its fierce vitality? Sometimes he could hardly draw breath, thinking of the King. They were of a height, but Elu was bigger built than Celeborn, his heavy sleekness of muscle pantherlike. Graceful, dangerous, overwhelming. 

Celeborn's gaze rested on the camp, but his mind returned to the river a seven-night ago. Deep in conversation with several of the younger Elven warriors, he had felt a faint brush of fingertips across his skin, turned, and found Thingol. But it could not have been his touch - the king stood in rigid silence, jaw clenched tightly, his hands held in fists at his sides. 

Steel was the colour of Elu's hair, sword-bright in the silver caress of starlight. His skin gleamed with the lustre of Aman. Seeing it, Celeborn had not been able to help himself. Hoping the gesture would be taken as one of innocent concern, he gave in to the ever-present urge, and touched the warm strength of Elu's shoulder. It was a mistake. Immediately, a jolt had shot through his body. Heat flooded him, and panic with it. Thank Ulmo the water was deep! The smile he had carefully kept on his face faltered and he tried to keep the longing out of his voice as he said softly, 'My Lord? Are you well?' Such an innocent question, when need was sweeping through him like a forest fire. 

Elu closed his eyes. The others had moved away and Celeborn was grateful that for a moment he could give in to the heat; let his fledgeling desire show on his face. His gaze ran hungrily over the king's strong features. Innocent he might be, but he knew enough to understand what it was he wanted, whose large, strong hands he wished to have running over him like water, like silk, eliciting groan after groan of passionate need. 

Elu opened his eyes and Celeborn quickly schooled his expression into one of mild concern, but for a heart stopping moment he thought had had been discovered, as something flickered in Elu's expression. He had turned his face aside, terrified that he had betrayed himself, that Elu would walk away from him in disdain; send him back to his father, dismissed and shamed. But the king did not shrug off his hand, and when he looked back, he was relieved by Elu's reassurance that all was well. 

Celeborn knew he must let go. Now! With a reluctance as sharp as a stone knife he let his hand slide from Elu's shoulder, nodding carefully in acknowledgement of the older elf's words. But to his dismay, as his fingers slid down Elu's skin, they had seemed to tighten of their own volition, squeezing the velvet muscle in an unintended caress. 

Sweet fire erupted through Celeborn's body as his fingers gave into their desire to knead the yielding warmth and he fought to make himself let go, his mind frantic, _He must not know, he must not guess. Iluvatar help me, I cannot let him find out. I cannot take the risk of being parted from him; of disgusting him._

Swiftly, Celeborn had turned his back to Elu, lest his body decide the matter for him. He had walked away, told himself to be more careful, but in the weeks that followed he had relived the moment many times, torn between frustration and fear. 

Now, as the bustle of the camp surrounded him, as the flowers wilted in his hands, he looked up into the storm grey of his king's eyes and felt his mouth go dry, felt that excitement curl once more through his belly like drifting smoke, warming, insidious. 

Then Elu smiled. It was almost reluctant, no more than a slight lift of a corner of the sensual mouth, but the power of it slammed into Celeborn like a hammer blow, making it difficult to breathe. In the depths of the King's eyes was a longing he could not conceal, a fierce hunger. But it seemed Elu was not aware of it, was not aware that he was looking at Celeborn with undisguised need, the pain it caused him evident in the rigid line of his jaw. 

Celeborn started and his eyes widened. Elu was looking at him, only at him. His heart began a slow heavy thud against his ribs, a beat heavy with unspoken emotion, with silk-edged desire. 

Then it was gone. Cut off so suddenly, Celeborn almost staggered from its loss. For a moment, he stood stunned, reeling with the realisation, his skin prickling as though Elu had touched him with more than just his gaze. He was unaware the King watched him, wondering at his inattention, not understanding his own naked want had been the cause. 

The moment stretched into uncomfortable silence. Elu's horse, picking up the emotion singing between them, stamped a hoof. That shook Celeborn from his shocked reverie and he looked up, hoping that his heart was not in his eyes. Elated by the powerful beauty that was Elu Thingol, he smiled suddenly and reached up to tuck one of the flowers into the King's polished steel hair. 

'There, my Lord!' he laughed, his voice less steady than normal, 'Now you are ready for the festivities!' 

Elu frowned, not missing the slight catch in the warmth of that bright tone. He tried to catch Celeborn's eye, but was distracted by the feel of slender, strong fingers on the tip of his ear. He could not prevent the tiny shudder which ran through him at the unconscious caress, just as Celeborn in his turn could not prevent the momentary lingering of his fingers. 

But then it was gone and Celeborn was stepping back, a light flush on his high cheekbones, his breathing slightly ragged. Elu's heart leapt. Could it be.? 

Urgently, he leaned forward, about to speak, but at that moment two young women ran lightly up to their Prince and took his hands, pulling him with them toward where a hunting party was gathering. With the part of his mind not clouded by a drifting haze of desire Elu watched as the prince allowed himself to be led away. Was it reluctance that slowed his steps? Briefly, Elu hoped so, but the single slight smile Celeborn sent back to him was unreadable. 

Suppressing the urge to snarl in frustration, Elu gathered his mount under him with a touch of his heels. Better he engage himself elsewhere, he thought, before his mind lost itself completely in imaginings of that smile under his mouth, its amusement turning to wanton pleasure beneath his plundering kiss, its generous curve opening on a gasp of agonised delight. 

*** 

Celeborn found he could attend to nothing. Around him, in the gentle starlight, young elves of both sexes laughed and talked in soft voices. Every so often one would sing, the joyful sound falling dull on his ears. 

For in his veins another song danced. It brushed over his skin in soft whispers of heat and cold, making him shiver. It fogged his mind, and he could remember only the look in Elu's eyes - a look which had stopped Celeborn's breath, made his heart lose its steady rhythm, only to pick it up a moment later at double the pace. Could it be.? 

He shook his head, angry with his folly. He had sent the hunters out without him, knowing he was too distracted to be safe, but it seemed he could not even keep his mind on the simple task of hulling strawberries. The Elf-maid with whom he shared this task had fallen silent, and he wondered what she had asked, what answer she expected. He had not been listening. 

Her face was quiet, her slender body outlined by the starlight like a statue of ice. When finally his gaze rested on her she sighed, leaned to place her hand on his arm. 'It is hard, is it not,' she murmured, 'When that which we most desire seems unreachable?' 

Alarm mixed with a little guilt came over him. 'Do not fear,' she said softly, seeing it, 'None have noted it save myself. My insight is ever true when it comes to love - though in all other matters lacking. And did I betray or reveal your secret doubtless even that small talent would leave me. I will say nothing.' 

Celeborn looked at the serene, delicate face before him. She knew - and did not condemn. Grateful beyond knowing that she simply understood, he relaxed, and for a moment they sat silently. The tension which sang unceasingly through his body lessened a little in the peace. 

But with her next words, it returned in greater measure than before. For with a smile, the woman gathered the forgotten berries from his hands and brushed a kiss against his cheek. Her breath stirred the hair at his temple as she whispered, 'You are not alone, my Prince. In his eyes is the same longing. I have seen it.' She drew back and her smile was slow, 'Truly. And where is the harm?' Looking up, to the softly glimmering sky, her smile grew mischievous, 'It is such a beautiful time, is it not? Why not go to him? Go to him and be glad. For the love of the body is a beauty the heavens cannot match, and with one such as he, even the stars would be as a distant memory to his light.' 

She scrambled to her feet and departed, leaving Celeborn empty handed, but with a heart full of gratitude and new purpose. But how to achieve that purpose? Needing to think, he rose, turned on his heel and melted into the shadows of perpetual twilight beneath the trees. 

*** 

Elu sat by the fire, a slight smile on his lips as he watched his people rejoice. He had resolved to push aside all thoughts of his longing and simply enjoy the rare happiness of his folk. He laughed at their high spirits, grinning at the mirth which echoed through the large clearing. He joined in the songs, delighting in the chance to raise his voice in praise of life. 

Yet despite his resolve, he had left the bloom in his hair, and his gaze strayed frequently to the tree line, unconsciously seeking one whose absence he could not quite ignore. 

It was during one of these stolen glances, that the call went up; Elu did not hear it at first. He turned, surprised, as he realised that one of his warriors was standing before him, smirking. A long, beautifully crafted knife with a curving blade of near translucent stone was balanced across his palms. 

'Come, my lord,' he said in a voice which carried throughout the clearing, 'You have not participated in our revelry this night. Dance now. Dance for us, your grateful people, so that we may witness your grace.' 

Elu stared up at the warrior, at the roguish glint in the elf's eyes. Despite the look of mischief, the compliment had been genuinely meant, and was in fact little more than the truth. None of the Elves, all infinitely graceful, had quite the beauty of movement, the strength of limb, the perfection of form of their Lord. _None, save one,_ Elu thought privately. 

He had no choice but to accept the cheerful dare. Never had Elu given his people reason to doubt his willingness to join their celebrations. He would not disappoint them now. 

Standing, he took the blade, weighed it in his hands. He looked out at the gathered Elves, and the smile which came to his lips was spontaneous, pushing aside for a moment his guilt and frustration. 

'Ah,' he said "But who will dance it with me? This is a thing for two, is it not? Two warriors of skill and note. Who will match his strength to mine this night? You, Mirennin?' 

The warrior backed away, raising his hands and laughing, 'Not I, my Lord. The bruises still fade from our last practice!' 

The light, joyous laughter of all assembled mingled with the drifting smoke from the fire as Elu turned, grinning now, 'Then who?' he demanded, 'Surely there is one here who would care to match me?' 

'I will match you.' 

And all Elu's enjoyment fled as he fought to control his body's reaction to the silken caress of that voice, warm even through the edge of challenge it now held. Looking up, Elu saw a white and silver figure step from the trees. 

Celeborn 

The sheer beauty of the youth made more than one of the gathered Elves, male and female, gasp in appreciation. Celeborn walked slowly, with easy grace and the confidence of one born to lead. His gaze never left Elu's face. A warrior born, he seemed, bearing his own blade in strong, sure fingers. 

He wore a white tunic of a suede so soft it had the texture and weight of velvet. It clung to the lithe outline of chest and hip in silent testament to the elegance of the body beneath. His long legs were encased in close-fitting white leather. In his face was all the fairness of his people; young, fiercely brave, filled with hope. His skin glowed cream and gold, the constantly moving firelight touching the clean lines of his cheekbone, brow, strong, stubborn chin. 

And over all fell the waterfall of his hair, shimmering silver down his back as a challenge to the very stars. Indeed, they seemed caught in its length. Here and there amid the nimbus of gleaming mithril he had plaited small beads of crystal, carved like leaves - tiny and exquisite. They sparked with soft, cold fire as he moved. Like many of his people he had braided a feather onto one lock of hair - symbol of flight and freedom. Now it stirred, dove-grey and strokable, just grazing his jaw line as he breathed. 

He was utterly beautiful, beautiful enough to make even Eru Iluvatar weep at the perfection of his form; the epitome of that which The One had intended the Elves to be. 

And Elu wanted him. 

Wanted him so much it made his head spin, his body ache. Pain shot through his jaw as he clenched his teeth hard on the moan of sheer lust which rose in his throat. Heat suffused him so that he could not think past the waves of need which crashed over him. 

And suddenly he was angry. This creature, this stunning creation of breath and light and slender muscled power was out of his reach, was as far from him as the perpetual stars under which they dwelt. Not his rank, nor his wisdom, not even his own beauty could grant him the one thing he desired most, the only thing he wanted for himself. 

Fury tore through Elu, a focus for the overwhelming emotion, and he directed it at the youth standing before him now, watching him with what Elu realised was an anger to match his. Elu did not stop to consider Celeborn's grievance, did not wonder what pulled the slender shoulders into a taut line beneath the white tunic. All he felt was his despiration to purge this aching need which haunted his dreams and plagued his waking. 

Through the roaring in his ears, he heard the softly repeated words, 'I will match you.' 

Challenge. 

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

Every eye in the assembled company was fixed on the two of them, wondering at their sudden animosity. Elu could feel it. The discomfort, the concern. It had always reassured the Teleri that their ruling house was so united in these uncertain times, that Elu had so strong a bond with his brothers and Elmo's children; with Celeborn, their prince. 

But the antagonism arcing between them now was palpable. The air pulsed with the threat of battle. 

Standing aside, Celeborn allowed Elu to move first into the centre of the clearing. It was a courtesy due and expected from his rank to the king's. But the ironic tilt of his head was not lost on Elu. It only fuelled his sudden, white-hot rage. 

Fury sparked along his nerves, so that almost he began to wonder at his own sanity, because _still_ Celeborn's beauty staggered him - drew, tempted, taunted him. He shook himself mentally, bringing the long knife to guard position, saluting his partner. _My opponent._

The first ripple of notes fell like water on his skin. 

*** 

Wandering alone through the sighing trees, dim in shadow, Celeborn had passed from elation to a mirroring anger. It was not so easy as his berry-picking partner had seemed to imply. 'Go to him', she had said, as if he could simply act on impulse, walk up to Elu and fit himself into the other's arms, pull him close, lose his senses in the heavy fall of the King's hair... But he could not. 

Elu's love he had owned from birth - he had grown up in its strength. For he was the grandson of Elu's brother, and the bonds of kindred were strong in his family. There, in what should have been happiness, lay the trouble. What would his father, and his grandfather think, what would they feel, if he did this? Betrayed, certainly. Perhaps even outraged. In a private family such dissention could be tolerated. But in the family of the King? No. He had a duty to his people not to do this, not to fracture the unity of their lords, simply because he thirsted for the love of Elu's strongly muscled body, yearned for the touch of that uncompromising mouth, so often curved in a smile… 

Deep in the forest, joy had soured in Celeborn's heart. Why could he not just be any elf, free to love and live as did all those in this company? Or why did he have to develop this irrational and impossible attraction? And why could he not make it stop? 

Enough. It was enough. He stood, lifted his head and set his shoulders. He had dwelt on this long enough. So he could not have what he wanted. Life would go on. Now he needed to change and attend the festivities; he did not want to give Thingol any reason to wonder at his absence, whatever one fleeting expression may or may not have held. 

And if he took particular care over his appearance in his preparations, he put it down to the fact that, as prince, he had a duty to present as pleasing an image as possible. As he combed and braided his mithril hair, winding the delicately carven beads, like tiny stars, and a soft, silver feather into its length, he did not allow himself to think he did this for Elu. 

When Celeborn arrived at the clearing, the King's challenge had been the spark to the tinder of his own fury. Elu did not know what he was playing with. He thought himself inassailable, did he? Well Celeborn had practiced this dance alone for hours at a time in the forest. He would not be so simply beaten as Elu might think. He was not a child any more. 

No, Celeborn thought, he was no child, for if he had been he would not still feel this painful impulse to reach out as Elu passed, to graze the powerful shoulders with his fingers, to close his eyes and feel the heat of Elu's spirit caress his skin like questing hands. 

Drawing a breath, he tightened his grip on the long knife and followed his idol, his enemy, into the centre of the clearing. 

Even in the days of the Firstborn's youth, this dance was old - a fusion of hunting and combat and beauty, wrought into a display of skill and grace, a test of body and will. That it was dangerous, potentially deadly, only added to its allure - to the glory of a warrior who could perform it well. 

A slip at the wrong moment - timidity or aggression making a block too weak or a blow too hard - and serious injury would result. Minor injury was expected. Rare were those able to tread the complex measures so well they emerged unscathed. For this dance was also a test of mental strength, of control, an exercise in not allowing the ego to rule the mind and heart; the coolness needed not to press an advantage, not to get carried away. 

Indeed, this dance was so perilous, such a risk to both participants, that only the weapons teacher of a young Elf was allowed to teach it to the pupil, only the one who had spent most time nurturing and tutoring the youngster was permitted to instruct their pupil in this ultimate expression of Elvish grace and lethal elegance. 

Many years ago, Elu had taught it to Celeborn. 

Celeborn had learnt well. 

For several tense moments, they faced each other across the clearing, breath held against the notes which would herald the beginning of this dangerous measure. Celeborn held his gaze level on Elu's, not giving any ground under his king's blazing stare. 

The first sweet notes of the harp fell like soft rain into the clearing, mingling with the starlight and the red-gold fire, transforming the very air into rippling layers of sound and colour. Despite his anger Celeborn smiled. The music rang in his soul in the same way that being among trees did, calling him out of himself, to exult. 

He turned in a fluid movement to his left, bringing the knife up and round, as Elu mirrored him to the right, doing the same. Blade crossed over his chest, he paused a beat, before sweeping it out and taking the gliding step, led by the music, which took him closer to Elu. Another turn, a lithe leap. He flicked the blade up and caught it in the opposite hand, and they were closer still. The music increased in pace. 

Feet light, following the intricate steps, he took a tight, timed spin and turned, bringing his blade out, not needing to look, knowing that Elu's knife would be there to meet his, directly in the centre of the clearing. 

The blades touched edge to edge, combining with the music, making a note which cut to the heart, sharp and pure. The gathered Elves sighed in acknowledgement of the dancers' skill. It was the best of omens, if that note sounded out in correct time. 

Now the music hushed, holding its breath, as the knife edges held steady in a kiss of cold, sharp stone; then slowly, the pressure never changing, each blade slid slowly down the length of the other. The dancer's locked gazes, fury arcing between them. 

The song exploded into the night. They spun apart, faced opposite ends of the clearing. Each flicked his knife up, up into the air, to be deftly caught by the other in a spinning leap. When the blades again came together in a blindingly fast series of thrusts and parries, counterpoint to the fast beat of the music, each now held his opponent's blade. The onlookers hardly dared gasp, else the dancers be distracted and one or the other seriously hurt. 

Gathering himself for the leap which would take him over Elu's low slicing knife, Celeborn felt exhileration take him, felt it begin to sing through him until he almost laughed aloud. He let the music intoxicate him, possess him, dictating his movements, filling him with power. 

Thrust forward, arm almost straight but not locked, counter, a light touch, point to point and then out, away. Blades rolled around the wrist, worked up the arm in a careful meld of balance and speed, spinning and glittering in the firelight, while feet picked out a constant rhythm of steps, circling and dancing, close and away. 

The tempo built, and Celeborn felt his stomach tighten in anticipation. Here he would have to touch Elu and yet remain focussed. He dared not hold his breath in anticipation, for even such a slight change in the pattern of breathing would upset his timing and he would lose, the dance faltering, failing. 

A light shimmer of high notes sounded and Celeborn turned. His shoulders met Elu's, back to back as their blades danced and shone above their heads. Fire raced down Celeborn's spine at the touch of Elu's body; he could feel the movement of Elu's muscles beneath his tunic and his mind filled with the thought of those muscles moving under his fingers, naked against his skin. 

Elu's shoulders flexed, just in time, warning him. Celeborn again flicked his wrist, turned so that he and Elu were a finger's width apart and caught Elu's blade above his head as they exchanged weapons again. 

They stepped around each other, each turn and glide in perfect time with the racing music. Coming close they spun their blades in and out, over and under each other's wrists, until it was impossible to tell who had hold of which time at any given moment, and sometimes, it was neither of them, the slender knives seeming to hang in mid air before being caught by a deft hand. 

At times, they were forced to look at each other and Celeborn saw, beneath the still seething anger, a joy in Elu's eyes to match his own. This dance was a celebration of exhilerating prowess. Its execution was... Was the most powerful aphrodisiac Celeborn could imagine. Even through the total concentration the dance required, he could feel the tension between the two of them. Despirate, powerful need mingled with anger and delight. 

The song shifted rythmn. Obedient to its lead, Celeborn circled out in a series of spins and leaps to the edge of the crowd. He flicked out a hand and was given a length of grey silk. Tossing his blade high, he had secured the blindfold over his eyes by the time it fell to his waiting hand. 

Darkness descended on him, and the music speeded, deleriously swift. 

***** 

Surprised by bliss, Elu revelled in this almost combat. It took his breath away, it felt so perfect. 

When they stood back to back and exchanged blades, Elu nearly drowned in the press of Celeborn's body. He could feel the youth's controlled tension, and for a moment he could have sworn Celeborn felt the same shiver of desire down his spine, but no, it could not be. 

He moved, fighting to hold to his concentration. The next few patterns were purely reflex, so that his securing the blindfold over his own eyes came as something a shock. 

Now the music was a sweetly soaring thing. Stilling, becoming almost motionless, he bared his wrist and held it out, palm up, knife held out wide, an offering to Celeborn's cut. A moment later, he felt the lightest touch of a blade across his skin, so precise it did not leave even a mark. He let out a breath and turned, bringing his knife up and across, feeling the warmth of Celeborn's breath on the back of his hand as his blade traced the length of the younger elf's vulnerable throat. He dared not even shiver… and it was sweet torture 

Again, this time reversed, and as Elu felt Celeborn's blade at his throat he held his breath, but the knife did not falter, tracing lightly the vein in Elu's neck and up under his chin, then he was away, tearing the blindfold from his eyes, laughing with joy. 

The end approached. Suddenly, unexpectedly, with the most difficult part over, fury returned. He greeted it with disbelief, stunned that it had not yet been purged. But that was it, perhaps - now the difficulty was eased he had time to look at Celeborn; to see the sheen of sweat that covered the prince's skin, how his hair, as he moved, floated around him, catching the firelight and throwing it back in a shining wave. His smile, his new serenity - sunk in the sensuous danger of the dance... 

Desire overcame Elu's will. How dare Celeborn look so unconcerned, so innocent, so…untouchable. 

They came together for the last time. At the light touch of Celeborn's wrist and shoulder, Elu flinched, knew Celeborn had felt it; the prince's eyes flickered, and somehow, they were balanced again. Elu's emotions surged. Fury, chagrin, need and frustration clouded his vision. 

Mind in turmoil, Elu chose the more complex of the two options for the conclusion of the dance. It was a mistake, his concentration was utterly gone - his anger drove him to strike fast, hard, out of tempo, and without knowing how it happened, his blade sank deep into Celeborn's shoulder. 

The onlookers' gasp of appreciation turned to shock as the prince spun away and ended, arm across his chest, knife held flat against the length of his arm, blood spreading rapidly across his shoulder, soaking his tunic. 

There was utter silence in the clearing. Who would concede the match? Accept blame for the injury, acknowledge that they were not quite perfect. Who had won? 

Celeborn smiled, coldly, 'My congratulations, my king,' he said quietly, 'The dance is yours.' He held Elu's eyes for a moment longer in the silence, before a storm of noise broke out across the clearing. The crowd, recovering from its awe, surged forward. Elven voices were raised in delighted appreciation and praise for the two warriors. 

Celeborn had lost, but he had acquitted himself well, and he would only become more skilled over time. As it was, he outmatched all but the one who stood across from him, gaze locked with his, both of them oblivious to the noise and movement around them. Together in a world made only of the two of them. 

Then someone touched Celeborn's shoulder, slender fingers gently exploring the wound through the ruin of the white tunic. Sudden agony made him wince. Dizziness overtook him, tearing him away from Elu's compelling gaze. A healer was speaking urgently to him. He nodded, trying to follow the words, aware of Elu's eyes still on him. The healer pulled him away and he went reluctantly. But he did not look back. 

Elu stood immobile, waves of guilt breaking over him. What had he done? How could he have allowed his anger to affect him so? How could he have forfieted even his honour in this damnable obsession of his? 

For he knew what none but Celeborn knew. It was not the boy who had lost, but Elu. In that last move, when they touched, and he flinched _he_ had thrown both of them off balance. Celeborn had moved, infinitesimally, so that not even the sharp Elven eyes of those who watched could have caught his compensation, and they had steadied. But the end was clear, the king, with that slip, had forfeited the fight, had conceded the dance. 

Noticing the failure, Celeborn had smiled wryly, moved back, transferring his weight ready to bring the dance to its conclusion. But Elu, driven by emotion, had stepped into the movement too soon, brought his knife up too soon, Celeborn's surprised attempt at a block only deflecting the blow, not stopping it, as it sliced through the fine suppleness of the white tunic and deep into Celeborn's right shoulder. 

A slight gasp of pain and Celeborn's eyes darkened as he spun away to finish. His poise making him seem only grazed, barely harmed. 

_Because of my failure,_ thought Elu, hating himself. He accepted the congratulations of those around him with loathing, knowing he did not deserve them, and felt again what none of them knew; how deep the wound truly was. All of his pent up longing had driven the point home until it struck against bone. 

What generosity of spirit, what love must lie behind Celeborn's gesture, conceding the match to a man he had trusted, even after that trust was betrayed. Handing Elu the glory, even though his role modle, his teacher, had so badly hurt and misused him. 

For as long as he could, Elu stood it, smiling, accepting the light touches of those near him, wishing only to go to Celeborn. He had never been more thankful than when the music began again and the crowd drew off to dance. Unobtrusively as possible, he left the clearing, intending to find the young prince, telling himself he wished only to apologise, to try make amends for the failure of his own integrity. 

He did not dwell on the image which clamoured in his mind, of stripping back the bloodied white tunic to reveal the warm cream of the skin beneath, of setting his lips to the wound to try to absorb the pain he had inflicted into himself, to feel the beat of Celeborn's heart as he cradled the injured young Elf to him. 

I will make amends, he told himself firmly, That is all. 

**************** 


	4. Chapter 4

Elu strode to the healer's pavilion, his step tense, his fists clenched on self-loathing. He had to know that Celeborn had not taken serious hurt. Had to apologize. He yearned for the young man's forgiveness so badly he trembled with it. Had he lost all his kinsman's respect, all his... love, in one thoughtless moment? 

The healer met Elu at the door of his tent, with an expression of faint reproach. The wound told its own story of the ferocity with which it had been dealt. It could not be hidden from one whose path was to mend, and not to strike. Though he was the King, Elu felt himself shamed in the eyes of this peaceful elf. He flushed slightly and looked about himself. 

Celeborn was not there. 

In no mood for conversation, Elu merely lifted a brow. Expressionless, the healer looked away at the trees, indicating the direction the injured young elf had taken. 

Elu looked out at the trackless forest, torn, 'Is he well?' he grated out finally. 

'The wound is deep, my Lord. But with time and rest it will heal. I have dressed it and given him a draught for the pain. He wished to be alone for a time." 

His voice trailed off and his eyes strayed to a pile of bloodied cloths almost hidden beside him. Elu followed his gaze and he inhaled sharply at the gore saturating them. The wound was far more serious than even he had realized. How much it had bled! 

"I told him it was not wise to wander injured in the forest on his own. But…' 

'Why did you not stop him?!' Elu's voice was stingingly abrupt and dangerous, fuelled by his own guilt. He tried to check himself, - what after all could the healer have done, more than give advice? It was not his place to manhandle a prince of Elwe's house. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to be calmer, his tight-clenched fingers aching. 'Forgive me. I am concerned for him. Did he say whence he went?' 

'No, my Lord, he would not tell me. And when I pressed the point he was wroth.' Hesitating, the healer raised a face of confused concern to Elu's irritated stare. 'I would not intrude, my Lord, but I would help, if it were within my power. Is aught amiss? Lord Celeborn seemed greatly upset. On edge. He is not the most even tempered of youths, I vow, but I have rarely seen him so ablaze.' 

As Elu's formidable gaze fixed on him, he swallowed nervously, but pressed on, trusting in the king's wisdom and restraint in a way which made Elu feel both inadequate and honoured. "You are loved by your people, Lord, both of you. Yet in recent days a fey mood has come upon you, and it is keenly felt throughout the host. If there is aught that can be done to ease this quarrel, I pledge my aid to do it." 

Anguish blossomed anew in Elu's chest, but he had no intention of discussing this particular problem, let alone seeking healing here. 'No,' he said softly, 'There is naught amiss. A misunderstanding only, which I will presently address when I can speak to him. Return to the festivities. I will find the prince and bring him back.' 

Bowing beneath the canvas of the door, the healer hesitated once more, framed in an arch of stars, his gentle face thoughtful, uncertain. "Fury burned in his eyes while I dressed the wound. He has lost much blood, and taken strong medicine for the pain, and in such a state, my king, it may make matters worse if you pursue him now. Would it not be better to send Lord Nowë or young Amdir? One of his friends?" 

It was meant kindly, Elu knew. It was not meant to say 'You are no longer his friend', but that was how he felt it. Like a slap. "I will go," he said, stubbornly. "It was I who injured him, I who will make amends. Any other course would be cowardice." 

If the healer was still of a mind to argue, one look at his king's face kept him silent. Doubtless, whatever it was that was amiss between these two powerful personalities, he did not wish to become the object of the wrath of either one of them. Silently he nodded, and with a respectful bow, left his lord and king standing alone in the camp. 

After he had left, Elu stood wondering where Celeborn would have gone. A little earlier in the day, they had passed through a small glade filled with the heady scent of tiny, bell-like, silver flowers. The trees had been heavy with life, wreathed in blossom. And Celeborn, having a great love for trees - as many of the Elves had done - had exclaimed with joy at the sight. Surely he would be there? 

With a determined stride, Elu hurried in that direction. He could not shake from his mind the thought of the healer's cloths, sodden with blood, or the concern in the healer's eyes he would not allow himself to speak. If Celeborn had fallen, reopened the wound, now lay bleeding… Fear clutched at Elu's chest as he forced himself to breathe normally, to watch out, alert for danger. 

Despite his terror, it did not take him long to find his kinsman. At the foot of one of the tall trees which edged the very glade Elu had thought of, Celeborn sat with his head bowed. He seemed not to hear the king's light step, to be unaware of Elu's approach, caught unguarded - too weak, or too absorbed in anger - to give thought to his own defence. 

Alarm flared in Elu. He was not... Unable to finish the thought, he quickened his pace, strode to Celeborn's side and stood, looking down at the youth's huddled form. No, he was not dead. He breathed, but still he did not move - his knees drawn up to his chest, his head resting on them, his hands lying sprawled, empty among the long grass and white wood-anenomes. 

Carefully, Elu hunkered down in front of the still form, reached out a gentle hand to touch the silver hair which spilled, unbound, over Celeborn's legs, trailed like a starlit pool over the ground. 

At Elu's hesitant touch, Celeborn flinched, pulling his head away, recoiling violently against the trunk of the tree. His hand went for the weapon he did not carry even as his back made contact with the smooth bark. His face, wan in the starlight, paled further as the impact went through his shoulder. He blanched with pain, his strangled gasp loud in the silent forest. 

Wide, drugged and dark with confusion, his green eyes seemed almost black in the shadows of the trees. The healer had not lied, Elu thought, in claiming his medicine was strong. Fury, perhaps, had carried Celeborn here, but when it ebbed - as it must, in such a place of beauty - it had left him dizzy, disorientated, unable to do more than slump down where he now sat. Elu shuddered to think how vulnerable he had been, alone and injured, weakened, distressed. Sheer terror clawed its way up Elu's throat at the thought of what could have happened, even this close to camp. Others had been caught before, and the wails had gone up as their absence and their fate had been discovered. 

Melkor's binding had lessened the abductions, but they had not ceased - elves yet disappeared, taken to some terror from which death itself would be a mercy. Even with the oft-presence of Oromë, still it happened. Elu's soul shrank from the idea of it ever happening to Celeborn. 

He waited, his hand resting lightly on Celeborn's arm until a measure of sense had returned to the green eyes. In silence, they stared at each other, barely breathing, so much unsaid between them, so much longed for, so much forbidden. 

Then Celeborn's brows pinched and he said in a voice roughened by pain, 'Why did you follow me? You would not have come by choice. Did they send you?' 

In the blast of his fear, Elu's anger had lifted like a mist, fled with no trace. 'It was my will to come,' he said quietly, gaze still holding Celeborn's, 'I feared for you. Now, let me bring you home.' 

But Celeborn would not be appeased. He scowled, his words a little slurred. 'I do not want you here, as you can see. I am perfectly well, my king. Please, allow me a little privacy. Let me be!' 

_My king._ Such a bitter slant to those words! And…. something else. This seemed a deeper anger, a more banked fire than a single mistake - however grievous - would justify. Not the flare he would expect at injustice, but a deep, slow burning resentment. _Why?_ Elu thought. _Why should he be thus angry at me? He does not face the torment I face - wishing, wanting so badly, knowing he may not have, driven half mad with frustration and desire..._

His breath caught. Could it...? No, it could not be. Surely this anger could not stem from the same choking root as his own? Celeborn was too young to be thus driven. Yet he had fought with such fury - in every place the match for Elu's. Could it be the cause was also a match for Elu's own? Merely the thought had his body hardening instantly. He swallowed, licked lips gone suddenly dry, and forced himself to be still and think. Even if the boy wanted him - and surely he did not - still he should be protected from Elu's devouring passion. He was too inexperienced, too naïve to withstand such an onslaught. Elu had a responsibility, and this was not it. 

Celeborn was still staring at him. Elu allowed his hand to slide from the youth's forearm to his uninjured shoulder, felt the muscles tense and jump under his large hand. He took a great gulp of breath, passing it off as a sigh, 'I will not leave you. You are hurt. I cannot abandon you here for some hunting bear, or worse, to find. Come back with me now.' 

'No.' The single word was spoken with such finality. Reluctantly Elu lifted his hand from the slender shoulder. At once it felt cold, empty, unfulfilled. He had to tuck it in his sleeve, or he would have reached out again. 

'Why were you angry?' he said, 'Oh, I can understand why you are angry now! I came partly to offer my apology. It was unforgivable to allow you to cover my slip and then accept the victory as though it were mine. I did not intend that to happen, I...' 

Elu's voice trailed off. His gaze was full of regret, with such wells of sorrow and half-leashed danger. So close, he was! Celeborn could feel the warmth of his body - a muted promise at this distance - sense the vibrant strength of him. Clenching his hands against the impulse to grasp the front of the king's tunic and pull him closer, Celeborn looked away, biting his lip. 

As he moved, the prince's hair slid over his shoulder and the elegant length of his neck was exposed - a swan-like sweep of muscle, skin the colour of cream, edible as cream, begging to be tasted, asking to be bitten, bruised ... Taken off guard, transfixed by a sudden wave of desire so strong it made him reel, Elu could not take his eyes from the pulse that beat erratically in the younger elf's neck. His heart thundered in his ears. Mind racing frantically, he dug his nails into his palms, knowing he should move - stand up, get away before… 

He looked up and saw Celeborn watching him. Swiftly, he lunged to his feet, spun away, breath faltering in his throat. _No! I will not!_ he thought desperately. _That is not desire I can see in his eyes, he is angry with me and rightly so._ In agony, Elu ground his teeth together. Pain lanced through his skull, but still he was achingly aware that Celeborn had risen, unsteadily, and had taken a step toward him. 

Seething with desire, Elu grated out, 'Why will you not speak? Tell me what I have done that makes you keep such silence!' 

A ghost of a smile tugged at Celeborn's lips. In the sliding shadows of silver night it was hard to see his changing expressions; frustrated honesty, mere confusion, or drugged recklessness. 'Do you not know, Elu? All my life I have watched you, I have learnt from you. Why will you not teach me this last thing? Do you not see me here? Do you not care for me….' the musical voice dropped to a murmur, softened with what seemed contempt, 'Or perhaps you have not the courage to acknowledge your own desires, my king.' 

_My king._ At those words - sarcastic, taunting - Elu tensed. A savage wave of anger and lethal desire rocked him, tearing at his restraint, his very sanity. He tried to hold on. The second challenge his young kinsman had issued that night rang in his ears like mocking laughter. _My king!_ Oh! Oh, Valar he would not take this! He could not! Pushed beyond endurance, aching with overwhelming, demanding need, at last his body overruled him, shoved aside with ruthless ease the final scruples of his mind. 

Reacting from pure, primal instinct, Elu snarled. He reached the place where Celeborn stood in two swift strides. Grabbing the younger elf roughly by the shoulders, he heard, distantly, Celeborn's gasp of pain as he bore him stumbling backwards, slammed him into the unyielding trunk of the tree, forcing the breath out of his lungs. He heeded no cries of agony - they did not matter, nothing mattered now but the need to kiss, to possess, to feel that firm mouth beneath his, to absorb the warmth of breath and body into his own. 

Elu's mouth came down ruthlessly on Celeborn's, smothering the prince's outcry beneath a bruising kiss. He crowded the youth back against the tree, growling in his throat at the longed for feel of the lithe, warm muscled body beneath his heavier one. Gripping Celeborn's shoulders hard, he felt wet warmth seep beneath his left hand. Celeborn moaned, but whether it was in agony or desire or both, Elu could not tell; he could distinguish nothing but the glory of the young body pressed tight against his, the lips, hot and sweet and, he realized with shock, as demanding as his own. 

Celeborn was kissing him back with a hunger to match Elu's own. At that realization, the Elven king's passion spiralled out of control. He thrust ungentle hands into the youth's mithril hair, held him still, so that he could plunder more fully the drugging warmth of his mouth. It was pure, sweet ecstasy, like nothing Elu had ever known. Searing heat and cold shot through his body, intoxicating, overpowering. Without thought, he moved still closer, until his hips came into contact with Celeborn's. Need shocked through him at the touch. 'Ah!' he cried out, as the warm heaviness of his desire came into tight contact with Celeborn's own rigid hardness. _Oh Valar! He wants me!_

Not stopping to think, beyond fighting the waves of passion engulfing his body, Elu thrust forward, needing more, needing… He pushed Celeborn harder back against the tree. Liquid welled over his hand, flowed over Celeborn's shoulder and then his own, melding them together. Its heat spread between them, as delicious as Celeborn's strength, pushing back against his, sensuous as the abandoned passion with which the younger elf reacted to Elu's onslaught, as though he would rather touch than breathe. 

Celeborn's hands were tangled in Elu's hair, pulling him closer. His hips thrust hard against his king's. His legs went weak with wanting; his head light with the need clouding it. If there was a dizziness apart from the mind-numbing gratification, a weakness which did not stem from the intoxicating pleasure Elu's mouth and body was giving him, then he ignored it. Waves of heat made his head spin. Tiny bursts of light exploded behind his eyes. Elu moved, and fire raced over his skin as the king's head lowered and he began to kiss Celeborn's neck, sucking hard, sliding with warm moistness up to the corner of his jaw, impatiently nuzzling aside soft silver hair to find the sensitive pulse point, tasting and laving the warm skin with his tongue. 

Celeborn's legs buckled and he would have fallen had not Elu's big body pinned him against the tree. He whimpered with the force of the sensations crashing through him, which only intensified as Elu swept his hands down his body and pulled his hips still closer, gasping into Celeborn's ear. To see Elu so out of control, so needy, so desperate - it drove Celeborn out of his mind with wanting. The growing agony of his shoulder was an irrelevance. Ignoring it, he bucked under Elu's weight, trying to push his hands between their bodies, searching, seeking. He found Elu's hard length and closed slender fingers around his king's desire. Elu convulsed beneath his touch, thrusting forward hard, an agonized cry of pleasure bursting from his throat against the smoothness of Celeborn's skin. Celeborn answered the involuntary cry with a moan of his own, the grind of Elu's hips sending waves of ecstasy coursing through him, increasing the dizziness into a seething maelstrom of want and need and pain…. 

Pain. He registered the sensation for a brief moment of blinding agony, and then the world went dark, dragging him down to a place where desire mingled with waves of searing cold… 

When Celeborn went limp beneath him, Elu's first reaction was surprise. The lithe form thrust tight to his relaxed so suddenly that he staggered, caught off balance. He raised his head, shook it. Instinctively, his hands reached to catch the sagging body as he struggled to focus, to clear the haze of passion from his eyes. 

"No! Oh no!" Glory turned to horror suddenly and completely, when he saw what had happened. 

Blood covered Celeborn's chest, glistening dark in the starlight. So much blood! Elu too was covered in it - hand and sleeve and tunic. He had slammed the youth back against the tree, brutally, with all his strength, reopening the bone-deep wound. It was bad - far, far worse than he had ever thought. Bad enough to be deadly, and he, in his selfishness, had neither noticed nor cared. There was so much blood! So much! 

Gathering the unconscious form to him, Elu laid trembling fingers to the younger elf's throat. A weak pulse faltered there. Swiftly, resisting the urge to scream in denial and panic, he lifted the boy, so that the liquid silver of Celeborn's hair fell in shimmering waves over his arm, grated out a plea to whatever Valar might be listening, and began to run back to camp. 


	5. Chapter 5

Celeborn woke slowly to deep, blessed darkness. As his mind surfaced from the blank depths of unconsciousness, he became aware he was in a tent, its sides moving with a soft sound in the wind. He lay on a thickly padded pallet, covered with soft furs. And he hurt, Valar he hurt! His shoulder was aflame, and sickening shocks of pain sliced through his chest. Instinctively he held himself still against it, trying to breathe slowly. 

As awareness returned, he opened his eyes carefully, seeking a distraction from the agony. No lamp burned, and he was alone. 

No, he corrected himself, not alone. There _was_ someone standing in tree-shadow, just outside the door, faintly touched by an unearthly, beautiful light. Frowning, Celeborn squinted against a sudden pounding in his head. His vision blurred as he tried to lever himself up to one elbow. With a slight intake of breath, an impression of movement, - a shifting and melding of the shadows - the figure was gone, slipping away with barely a whisper of sound. 

Painfully, around the dryness of his throat, Celeborn murmured 'Elu?' He knew no other who carried radiance with him, as though he were a fallen star. But there was no answer. If the figure in the shadows had been Elu Thingol, he had not heard Celeborn's quiet plea. Or he had ignored it. 

Defeated, Celeborn lay back. Perhaps it had not after all been his Lord. Why would it have been? Memory flooded him at the thought, sweeping away all in its path. His heart lurched as he recalled, in precious, vivid detail, the encounter in the forest. _Oh,_ he closed his eyes,_this will be hard to explain to my father._ But the misgiving could not quench his smile. Absently, he raised a hand to his lips, traced the firm outline of a mouth his king had decisively claimed as his own. Beyond doubt, beyond anything he had dreamed. 

Tiny shivers chased themselves down his spine as he relived every nuance of that kiss, every touch, every gasp, every hard caress of hands and lips. Never had he been so overwhelmed! If Elu had asked for all Ennor, had it been in his power, Celeborn would have given it gladly. As it was, for those precious few moments, Elu's entire world had been Celeborn, of that the young elf was sure. 

He remembered the almost frightening desire in Elu's eyes, the uncompromising intent. How he had welcomed it. He needed it as much as he needed air. As much as Elu had needed him. 

'Mmn...' he murmured, recalling the feel of Elu's hands tangled in his hair, holding his head still so that he could kiss Celeborn with desperate savagery. From no one else would he have accepted such aggression, such dominance. And, his smile turned feral with anticipation, it would be interesting to see how Elu reacted to receiving the same treatment in return. There was no place for power and precedence between lovers. Young he might be, and lesser, still Celeborn had a will to match his kinsman's and they both knew it. _Lovers,_ he repeated, hearing his thought, and marvelling. _He is my lover,_. The very word was a thrill of joy. 

But then...then why had Elu left so abruptly, fled from discovery like a thief? _Why did he not answer my call? Why is he not beside me?_ A frisson of doubt snaked down Celeborn's spine, a flash of anxiety he could not explain. The king surely did not regret their encounter…did he? 

No, Celeborn told himself, firmly, he could not. He had no reason. Oh, true, Celeborn's father would be furious if he knew. What a storm that would be! He could picture it - Elu and Galadhon, both as silver as lightning, as loud as tempest - hurling words like thunderbolts. 'Seducer! Libertine! How could you use your position and influence to corrupt my innocent son?' 

Celeborn almost snorted, held back from it only because it would hurt too much. _Elu hardly seduced me,_ he thought. _I taunted him into it._ Admittedly, some of the courage which had enabled him to do so came from the draught the healer had persuaded him to drink and the fact that he was light-headed with blood loss and dizziness. And he had not expected his words to have such an, ah…effect. The memory made him lick his bruised lips and shiver with delight. 

He savoured it for a moment before returning to the troubling thought of his father. Did it matter? Galadhon was not here. He rode with his wife's family, among Lenw's folk. And he did not need to know. _We will be discreet and secret. If no one finds out, how is he to hear of it? Certainly not from me._

Hot and sweet, Celeborn's body reminded him of the reason for this line of thinking, overrode the image of Galadhon with demanding ease. His skin tingled with the feel of Elu's hands, against his back, his hips, pulling him closer - and oh! there had been too many clothes. Next time there would be flesh, skin, muscle to muscle, warm and hard. His fingers flexed, recalling Elu's shout of astonished bliss as he had closed his hand around the king's desire. His mouth had gone dry again. He flicked his tongue across his lips and tried not to moan as the memory made him hard; achingly, uncomfortably hard. Pushing away the impulse to waste this desire on lonely fantasy, he decided to play out the dream for real, to find Elu and seek relief for them both in the ecstatic fire of each other's touch. 

Slowly and carefully, mindful of the agony of his shoulder, temporarily forgotten in the rush of sensation, Celeborn sat up. _And that was what caused the problem the last time,_ he thought with a rueful smile as he threw the covers of his bed aside. _Next time, will I remind my Lord to be a little more careful in his desire, lest I lose my life to this passion!_ Softly, he laughed in anticipation, waiting for the slight dizziness which came with rising to pass. He would find Elu - and now that their mutual desire had been most definitely confirmed - they could fulfil it together. 

He smiled, and then - as smiling was insufficient to express his happiness - he sang to himself under his breath, adjusted the sling which held his arm immobile, and walked out into the starlight. 

All was quiet. He halted, listening, intending to go to the king's tent. But it came to him, in a sudden knowing, that Elu was not there. Celeborn looked at the forest, at the shadows of the tree line. Instinct drove him. He stepped toward it. 

*** 

There had been no happy awakening for Elu. He had run into camp, shouting for the healers loud enough to frighten the birds from the trees, and for hours afterwards he had hovered while they had tended the younger elf. The only thing which kept him from weeping in guilt was the desperation to know that his own selfish, mindless passion had not caused Celeborn's death. 

As he paced outside the tent, agony had possessed him. Oh, he had condemned his own actions before - a careless slip of the knife. But now! He had compounded that unforgivable act by giving in to his forbidden desire. Now he truly hated himself. 

There was no justification, no escape from what had happened, and still, _still_, his vivid imaginings would not cease. Even as he paced, he could feel Celeborn's lithe young body, trapped between his bigger frame and the tree, could hear the younger elf's panting breaths, his gasps of pleasure at the feel of Elu's mouth and touch. _No!_Elu's hands went to his head as if he could grasp the offending visions and pull them out. What had he been _thinking_? Painful laughter escaped him. He had not been thinking; he had allowed himself to do the one thing he had sworn not to do, may the Valar help him. 

It did not occur to Elu to include Celeborn in his condemnation. The boy was newly awakened to the spring of his youth, full of life, drunk on the excitement of the dance and drugged near senseless. If he had responded eagerly, it was because he was not in his right mind. How could he have resisted his King? Or the light of Aman, burning in Elu's eyes - a light which every good heart should desire? 

He could not. And all his apparent desire was nothing more than delirium - a sickness of which his teacher, his guardian had shamefully taken advantage. It would not happen again. _I will send him away,_ Elu thought, his chest aching at the thought. _For his own protection, from me. He must return to his family, where he will be safe._

He was certainly not safe with his Lord. It tore gaping wounds in Elu's heart to think it, but what if Celeborn woke forgetting his pleasure, remembering only an assault. That _was_ what it had been, after all. Would Elu have stopped, even if Celeborn had tried to push him away? He did not know. Sick with remorse and loathing he prayed _Let me not have injured him more than the physical. Let me not have scarred his soul..._

But _still_ he could not force the memory away. Detestable though it was, he had no wish to do so. Never had he known such driven need. It had swept away his conscience until it was no more than a whispering, unheard, unheeded in a scalding cauldron of flame and silk and sensation. Though he condemned himself utterly for his actions, he would hold the memory in his heart as a treasure to be guarded, dragon-like, for eternity. It should not have happened. It would never happen again. But the lingering joy of it would never leave him; remaining a bittersweet memory, to be avoided where possible, and where not, to be taken out and examined like a precious jewel, pure and unsullied. 

For there had been a purity to their passion, despite its wrongness. When he had felt Celeborn's response to his kiss, it seemed the world tilted on its axis. All questions of right or wrong dissolved in a sideways shift which left only a feeling of completion, of a happiness which felt entirely in keeping with the flow of the universe. Elu would never accept that they had a right to their secret encounter, but he had the unwilling feeling that somehow, Ilúvatar himself did not condemn it. The thought held no comfort. 

'My lord?' 

Elu opened his eyes to find the same healer he had spoke to earlier at his side. The elf's gaze was on Elu's tunic and Elu looked down at himself. He was covered in Celeborn's blood. He suppressed the shudder and looked up at the healer. 

'My Lord, have you taken hurt? Are you injured also?' 

Amazed by the fact that his voice was as steady as ever, he shook his head, 'I am uninjured. This blood is the Lord Celeborn's from where I..carried him back.' 

Elu berated himself for that slight hesitation, but the healer appeared not to notice, nodding in evident relief. 'The prince will be well, my lord. I cannot imagine how he re-opened the wound - he must have fallen. And hard - for it to bleed so freely.' The healer frowned to himself for a moment, wondering, and Elu was silent, despising himself more. 

'He will be unconscious for some time yet, the blood loss was severe. But he will recover swiftly enough if he does not tax it. Will you not come in and reassure yourself?' 

He yearned to do so - to duck under the tent flap to see for himself that his actions had not caused irrevocable hurt to one he loved beyond the love of kin. But he knew he could not now allow himself the luxury of being anywhere near Celeborn. When Celeborn awoke he would come to the inevitable conclusion, that his king, his beloved and trusted idol had taken advantage of him, tried to force him. Celeborn would hate him, must hate him, for what he had done. It was unbearable, but no more than he deserved. A sudden urge to weep roughened Elu's voice as he said, 'I will come later, perhaps. For now I must return to my duties. We will remain here for a few days while he recovers. If he wakes and asks for me, I will be in my tent.' 

*** 

In the depths of the night, Elu moved restlessly on his pallet, unable to rest. He stared at the roof of his tent, begging his mind to let him sleep, to stop flooding him with images of Celeborn crying out with pleasure, eager, seeking, drowning in kisses. Elu's hands bunched in the furs of his bed, his jaw clenched as he recalled the taste of Celeborn's skin, the salt of desire in his mouth as his lips had slid up the young throat. His body kindled at the memories, hot and tense. Shoving furs aside, he felt the coolness of the night air across his thighs, whispering over his hard flesh. He turned his head, breathing slowly, willing himself to think of anything but this, anything! 

Please!… But no matter how Elu begged his own mind to release him, there was no escape. His breathing quickened with lust, became ragged, uneven. _Do not,_ he warned himself, _Do not compound the unforgivable by taking pleasure from it now. No! You will not!_

Struggling to his knees, he knew he had to get out, away, it did not matter where. Unseen dangers lurked in the forest, but far worse seemed to him the monsters of his mind. He had to find some solace from this agony of guilt and desire before it drove him mad. 

Retrieving his weapons, bow and stone knives, he pushed aside the tent flap and checked the camp. All was peaceful. The guards patrolled the limits of the camp, silent grey ghosts in the starlight, ever vigilant against the dark things which came suddenly out of the shadows. Melkor's creatures, doing his bidding still, though their vile master was in chains. 

Recklessly, Elu ignored the warning that nudged the edges of his mind. He would take his chances. And none had been taken for long months now, perhaps evil had withdrawn into whatever dark fastness it still inhabited. While his heart and mind were in agony, and his body on fire, he cared little. Nothing, not even Melkor's greatest servant - the Maia known as Gorthaur the Cruel - could cause him more pain than he caused himself. 

But first, drawn as a moth to the flame which seared it, and despite his earlier resolve, Elu needed to see Celeborn. The younger elf would be unconscious for many hours. Not yet ready to wake and condemn him. He could at least look, before he walked away. 

As he made his way through the camp, a sudden breeze lifted his steel-silver hair. The sky had darkened, clouds obscuring the glittering fire of the stars. He frowned. So, today's hazy warmth would end in storm and savagery. It seemed appropriate. 

The prince's tent was dark, but the door was laced open so that healers could check on his sleep without coming within. There, just outside the entry, Elu balked, unable to go further. 

Celeborn lay half on his side, his arm in a sling. Unconsciousness had passed into deep sleep. He breathed quietly, unburdened by shame or doubt. For a moment Elu envied his youth and innocence, wishing desperately for that same unsullied joy which lit the young man from within, enhancing his beauty, transforming him into the embodiment of light and life. Physical perfection was an Elvish trait. In Celeborn, there was something more; wisdom and a capacity for love which infused his every word and action. Young he was, but in future ages he would be counted among the great, Elu could feel it as a certainty. 

For now, he slept peacefully and Elu envied him the rest, though he did not begrudge it. Instead, he yearned to curl his body around Celeborn's, hold the younger elf gently, feeling Celeborn's quiet breaths against him in the silence of the night. 

And he wanted to watch him sleep, tracing every line of hair and face and body, knowing that Elvish recall would never allow the memory of it to fade. As he stood, unable to withdraw, yet unable to move closer, Elu felt the sharp ache of love and mingled desire beak over him like a wave. His eyes were drawn as ever to Celeborn's mithril hair, spilling over his shoulder, the ends stirring a little in the breeze. It seemed to Elu that all the light in the tent seemed to coalesce in that bright length. It held a faint, ethereal glow. His breath caught in his throat, if he could touch that hair, just once… 

Celeborn stirred, moving a little. Seeing him wince and grow still, eyes still closed, Elu froze. Could he make his escape before the boy was fully awake? He had to go, and now. But still he waited, barely breathing, and at last, Celeborn's eyes opened. Disorientated, his gaze ran slowly around the tent, then sharpened. He looked straight at the king, frowning. 

Swiftly, Thingol moved, slipping into shadow, no more than a breath of air as evidence of his passing. But Celeborn had seen him, and as he moved away, heading with swift strides for the forest, he heard the soft cry, 'Elu?' 

Tears pricked his eyes. He shook his head, and carried on walking. 

Passing into the darkening night like a shadow of steel, Elu walked for a long time, listening to the sounds of the forest, the rustling of the trees. The wind continued to rise. Darkness deepened. A smell of rain was in the air and the crackle of energy which preceded lightning. Fiercely, the rising temper of the weather a match for his turbulent emotions, he grinned. He and the storm would spend their turmoil together. When it broke over the forest, elemental in its ferocity, he would observe its violent heart, watch as wind and rain and lightning raged over the trees. Perhaps in the wildness of the storm, his own emotions would be eclipsed, absorbed by the power of the night. 

Eventually, he halted, leaning back against the trunk of a tall tree, watching as small animals hurried by, eager to reach nest and burrow before the storm hit. One or two noted his presence, glancing at him with bright eyes before hurrying on, rustling through leaves displaced by the high winds. 

A stag paced slowly into the small clearing where Elu stood, refusing to be hurried by the storm. At the height of his power and strength, his delicate head was crowned by a magnificent rack of antlers. Dark eyes met dark as the two kings appraised each other. Then it lowered its antlered head in a slight bow. Touched by the regal calm of the animal he returned the salute. It watched him a moment more, wisdom and intelligence warming the solemn gaze in a way that reminded Elu forcibly of Celeborn, then it moved off, serene and proud. 

Celeborn. It seemed he could look at nothing without being reminded. But this time, he did not try to push the emotions away. Instead he offered then up to the sky above him, turning his face to the night as the first trail of lightning arced across the sky. Thunder boomed and echoed overhead. Energy sizzled in the air, and Elu tipped his head back, beginning to smile. Excitement built, deep in his belly, as though the storm promised release from his torment, matching the emotions which twisted and writhed inside him, begging to be set free. 

Here, he would let them find that freedom.. 

He pushed himself away from the tree. The first of the raindrops splattered on his neck as he bent, fingers moving to the lacings of his tunic. He loosened the ties at the neck, mind filling with the sight of another throat, bared to his touch, tipped back in gasping pleasure. Elu moaned, low in his throat, no longer fighting to deny the remembered sensations. He shrugged the tunic off his shoulders, let it fall to the forest floor. His light shirt flashed white in the next arc of lightning, darkened rapidly as the rain began to fall harder. As it slipped over his head, Elu felt his hair brush his naked back and hips. The shirt joined the tunic. 

Lightning cracked across the sky, lighting the tress into stark white sentinels. Torrential rain whipped at him, thunder a match for the pounding of his heart. Closing his eyes against the blinding downpour, he opened his mouth, caught the sweet tasting droplets in his mouth, laughed in exultation, lifting his arms to the power of the night as the storm now unleashed its full ferocity on the forest and the half naked elf below it. 

Behind his closed eyes, above the howling of the storm, Elu heard Celeborn's soft groan as their hips pushed together tightly. His answer was lost in thunder. Arms lowered, he stilled, laughter fading, eyes closed, hair darkened by the pouring rain, feeling the warmth of firm muscle beneath his body. 

Celeborn. Elu's hands slipped to the waistband of his leggings. It did not matter any more, not here, not in the power and violence of this storm. Tomorrow there would be time for the addition of this guilt to the burden he already carried, but for now he gave himself up to the storm and to pleasure. 

Deft fingers loosened the ties which held the soft material of his leggings closed. He opened the supple leather, slipped his hand inside. His fingers brushed the tip of his own hardness and he caught his breath, imagining another hand in place of his own. Lightning blazed, thunder almost immediate as he closed his fingers about himself. In his mind his arms were tight about the body he held trapped between the tree and himself. Rain lashed his face as he stroked, hips flexing, seeking the only comfort he could find, his breathing becoming ragged, hair soaked, water running over his skin. He choked a soft cry of desolation and pleasure as his fingers moved slowly, surely, over his hard, warm length, caressing the sensitive tip, sliding to his base, heart picking up the primitive rhythm of the storm. 

Then another hand joined his, a firm body, stripped to the waist like his own, moulded itself to his back. Warm lips found the side of Elu's neck. 

Celeborn. 

It was suddenly no surprise the youth was here, amidst this storm. It did not matter how he came to be here, with his injury, it did not matter why this was wrong. Elu's dreams had summoned him, perhaps, his yearning heart. It did not matter. All that counted was that he was here. Finally, wonderfully, wantonly here. 

Gently but firmly, Celeborn removed Elu's fingers, replacing them with his own without breaking the smooth rhythm the king had begun. Elu cried out at the touch. His head fell back, and he met Celeborn's gaze. The boy's smile was sweetly innocent, but the fingers moving so deftly around and over Elu's length were anything but. 

Elu reached back, fingers winding into the soft hair at Celeborn's nape, pulling him close for a kiss. Celeborn moved into his body, his tongue meeting Elu's with a forcefulness which surprised the Elven king. 

The kiss was a struggle for dominance, a violent bliss which sent Elu's mind on a spinning path of ecstasy. Then Celeborn made a frustrated sound against Elu's mouth and his fingers slid away momentarily. Elu made a muffled protest at the loss, but a moment later, he groaned loudly as Celeborn released the final ties of Elu's leggings so that the king's desire was open to the caress of the storm and Celeborn's surprisingly knowing fingers. 

Rain fell in torrents on heated skin as Elu writhed in Celeborn's grip, the slide of Celeborn's hand, the heat of his mouth, and the light touch of the rain on his body driving him wild. His hips thrust harder now, into Celeborn's waiting grasp and he began to pant, small rhythmic cries escaping him. Lightning flashed and Elu opened his eyes as Celeborn's demanding mouth slid from his to move along the line of his shoulder. Hard, nipping kisses tormented him with pleasure. Rain trickled down Celeborn's face, ran into his water-dark hair, flowed over his bared skin. Elu arched his back, pushing even harder into Celeborn's hand, mutely begging for him to increase the pace, wild desire threatening his very sanity. As he bucked helplessly forward and back, his buttocks thrust repeatedly against Celeborn's own hardness, and Celeborn made a desperate sound against the skin of Elu's shoulder, followed by a gasp of pain as Elu's increasingly frenzied movements jostled his shoulder. 

Elu tried to stop, horrified, to see how badly he had hurt the other elf, but Celeborn would not let him, 'No,' he growled, 'No Elu, please. Don't stop.' And his fingers slipped over the head of Elu's erection, smoothing, caressing, so that Elu lost all coherent thought, his hips finding once more the frantic, driving rhythm they had established. Lightning, more thunder, Elu was panting frantically now, as Celeborn's hand slid up and down his length, washed by rain and Elu's own warm fluid, 'Aaah, Celeborn, I…' 

Thought slipped away, Elu's world narrowed to the warmth of the body cradling his, the feel of deep, demanding kisses, the pleasure in his groin, building as the storm reached its height. Elu shook from head to foot, his legs buckling, his hips thrusting frantically, 'Ah, Celeborn, can't…please…' Another flash, thunder directly overhead, crashing through their bodies, and Elu's back arched. Straining, yelling in triumph, his body gave up its silver warmth to Celeborn's hand, spilling over the younger elf's fingers and to the ground beneath, feeding it. The storm shrieked in protest, the deafening noise a counterpoint to Elu's shattering cry of completion. 

He stilled and then watched, transfixed, as Celeborn brought his hand up slowly, fingers glistening with the rain and the gift of Elu's body. For a moment, he held his hand high, offering the king's seed to the spirits of the storm. A gift of love and of passion perhaps, but also something of a boast - a triumph of his own. Elu could not breathe, never had he seen a sight so breathtakingly erotic as that before him, the rain washing all into the earth at their feet. Celeborn lowered his arm, a smile lifting the lips he leaned to brush against his king's. Elu smiled back at the sheer joy in that smile and rested against his kinsman's body, the rain cooling their heated skin. 

Then reality intruded, with unwelcome force. Elu stiffened and his eyes went wide. What was he _doing_?! What had possessed him? He pushed Celeborn away - though carefully, not touching the bandaged shoulder - turned his back on the boy. With trembling fingers, he laced his leggings closed, keeping his back turned, shaking with the knowledge of what he had done. Guilt choked him - how was it possible to live and be this vile? - and its heavy fury drove him several steps away. Then he rounded on the prince, anger bursting from him like fire from the mountains. 

'What are you doing here?!' he shouted. 'How did you…?' 

Celeborn blanched. Staggered. Concern overriding all other emotions, Elu ran forward, just in time to catch him as he stumbled. Lowering him gently to the ground, he looked anxiously at the soaked bandage. There was no blood on it. He sighed in relief as Celeborn looked up at him in hurt confusion. 

'Why are you angry?' the boy whispered, his voice much too weak for Elu's peace of mind. 

Kneeling on the rain soaked ground, Elu settled Celeborn against the tree trunk and sighed. 'We should not have done that. Do you not see how wrong this is?' Weariness had overcome his anger. He knew himself helpless to fight this, and he did not know what to do. 

'Why?' the simple question, hurt, puzzled, nearly undid Elu. 

'Because you are my kinsman' he said quietly, defeat making his voice soft, 'Because you are too young. Because I took advantage of you. Because you cannot possibly know what you want…' 

Warm fingers across his lips stopped the flow of words. He looked up into green eyes which seemed suddenly to hold all the calm wisdom he could no longer find in himself. 

'Elu, my king, my beloved lord.' Celeborn's voice was laced with more than one kind of pain 'Yes, I am young, but you insult me by saying I do not know what I want. I know well what I want, and he is here before me.' 

Elu made a quiet sign of protest and shook his head, 'You should hate me, for what I did to you. Wounding you through my folly, almost killing you when I…' he faltered. 

'…did what we both wanted,' Celeborn's smile was gentle, almost smug. 

'No!' Elu wrenched himself away and stood looking down. 'What we both wanted? I gave you no choice.' 

'I goaded you into it,' was the calm reply. 

'I injured you.' 

'It was an accident. I should not have challenged you, knowing how we both felt.' 

Elu tried again. 'You could have bled to death!' 

Celeborn's smile was weak but wry, 'Would you believe I did not notice? I was…otherwise occupied.' 

'There was so much blood!' 

Again the smile, 'Now that,' he said quietly, 'I will give you. Did you think I had passed out from the force of your kiss, my king? 

Elu almost laughed, before the seriousness of the situation reasserted itself. 'And now…' he continued, You follow me out into a storm, barely able to stand, unarmed…' 

'I saw you. In my tent. I called you but you did not answer. You did hear, did you not?' 

'I heard,' Elu's voice was barely audible. He was not sure if he wanted to be heard, but perversely the storm chose that moment to quiet. The wind calmed, the rain eased, as the eye of the tempest sailed overhead, an island of uncanny peace. 

'Why did you not answer?' 

Finwë, Olwë and Elu himself had trained this young man to be a king's advisor - the voice of reason and calm among the storming and posturing of monarchs. It should be no surprise that he was so persuasive, that he made it sound so easy. Seething with confusion and guilt, Elu sighed, he had to stop this before he allowed himself to be talked around. 

'I did not answer because I hoped you would not know it was I who stood there.' 

Celeborn made to argue and Elu raised a hand. 'No, you must listen. I came here because I could not condone what, we, what I, had done. This is impossible, Galadhonion, it cannot be, for all the reasons I have stated. Do you not see that?' The last was almost a plea, certainly not the command Elu had meant it to be. 

'You did not seem to mind a few moments ago.' 

Elu bowed his head in bitterness, 'I am too weak. You were there and the storm was so fierce, and…I wanted you so badly. And look at you now,' he gestured to Celeborn, who had sagged against the tree, exhausted. 

But Celeborn would not be cowed, 'I am wet, not injured further. And now, I believe, it is my turn to speak and yours to listen. Hear me now Elu Thingol, my lord, my king.' 

Elu's head came up at that tone and he thought of the stag; a young stag challenging the old. He felt that, for a moment, he caught a glimpse of the future, and knew that the prince would one day become a king himself. 

'Your arguments hold no truth, my Lord. I am young, yes, but I am come of age. I owe my father gratitude, but I no longer owe him obedience. My path is my own to decide.' 

Celeborn's smile twisted - too old and cynical an expression for so young a face. 'I do not ask to be the love of your life. You are King. You will wed and have heirs, and I would hope that you will adore her. May she bring you joy! One day I could wish to have the like myself. But for now...' 

For all his sureness of speech he blushed, and Elu had to push away a fond, tolerant smile at the sight. 

'For now I would have you teach me this, as you have taught me all else. I love you as my kinsman and my friend, and I yearn for you. Do not send me away to slake my yearning with those for whom I care nothing. Until desire fades and we become other than who we are now, why can we not share what pleasure we can?' Celeborn's fingers brushed Elu's strong jaw, his voice was calm, quietly determined, ' Our journey is long, and it is hard. Let me share your burden, my Lord. Let me give you what comfort I can.' 

The simple plea was devastating in its effectiveness. Of a sudden, Elu's heart lightened. His fear and guilt that he had somehow taken advantage of the younger elf had been alleviated; his terror that he had caused permanent damage proved unfounded; his nephew's possible wrath was something which could be dealt with, if needed, and his duty to his people done - in time - without betrayal. Why had he been so afraid, so adamant that he could not have this? Was it only because he wanted it so much? 

The seethe of shame and doubt lifted, thinned like a mist and was swept away. All that was left in its stead was peace, acceptance, profound and growing joy. And beneath it all, a desire so deep and overwhelming in its intensity, they both trembled to see it in each other. 

Elu looked up, reaching to tangle his fingers in Celeborn's hair. The night was again quiet. Celeborn's gaze was full of happiness, strength and wisdom lighting the fairness of his face. For a while they merely looked at one other, absorbing the beauty and presence of the other. Celeborn turned his head to kiss the palm of the hand that combed through his mane of hair. 

Elu closed his eyes, falling into content. It was then that he felt the shock go through Celeborn's whole body - the lips against his skin parting in a gasp of horror. He stiffened, catching the emotion, his eyes flying open - going first to the wounded shoulder. But the cut was well enough, and Celeborn's gaze was focussed far off, where the darkness under the trees moved in time with no wind, where shadow flowed across the earth like a living thing, too deep even for elvish sight to penetrate. Cold and dread went like a vapour before it. 

Celeborn's hand clutched at Elu's wrist, as if to reassure himself by the pulse that his Lord still lived. He stared in utter shock and fear at the _thing_ that moved towards them, winged, vast and black. 'Aiya, Elbereth,' Elu heard him whisper in terror, 'It is the Hunter.' 


	6. Chapter 6

Shadow - deeper than a starless night - drifted at the edges of the wood, winding through branches like many serpents. Trees shivered in response to its malice, as it spread, flooding into the clearing in a silent, insidious tide. Within the heart of the darkness, there was a form; far taller than any Elf, faceless, but fully aware, which moved with cruel and beautiful grace towards them. 

Elu struggled to hold to rational thought as instinct screamed at him to flee. With breathless caution he moved, placing himself in front of Celeborn, shielding him from the sight of evil. For it had not yet noticed them. The swirling, roiling blackness which cloaked it, shot through with streams of red like blood, spread towards them inexorably, but without urgency. _It does not see us here._

Fighting his fear, Elu forced himself to be still, his hand on his kinsman's arm warning the younger Elf to do the same. 

'The Hunter,' Celeborn had called it, remembering legends out of Cuivienen. But it could not be, for Melkor - whom the elves had known by that name - was imprisoned in Valinor. There could not be two. And the Hunter had seemed a great and terrible figure on horseback, in mockery of Oromë. This bore a vampire's form, though as much greater than the typical vampire as the eagles of Manwë are greater than the sparrows. 

Shadow flowed more fully into the clearing, reaching out from the centre where the dark figure moved, cold as a new grave. Tendrils of blackness seeped across the soaked ground like mist, creeping closer, seeking, exploring, seeming to have a life of their own, an awareness which would warn their master of anything they touched. 

Slowly, carefully, the elves drew back from the reaching fingers of darkness, deeper into the sheltering shade of trees and storm. They knew instinctively that they must not brush against so much as a ribbon of that flowing cloak. For if they did, the chill thing would become aware of them. Its unhurried drift would stop and its evil will focus on them, freezing blood, stopping breath. Death would follow. Or worse. 

Elu's fingers tightened on the hilt of his knife. Oh, he thought he could put a name to this thing - this creature with the form of a blood-driven revenant, and the power of the greatest of the Maia. 

Gorthaur. 

It was almost worse. Where Melkor's desire was to destroy, Gorthaur's was to torture. His power might be less, but his intelligence and cruelty were greater than his master's. To be found by him, to be taken to his stronghold, forced into whatever fate awaited those elves stolen by the dark powers... _I will not let it happen,_ Elu vowed, glad that he had but newly sharpened his knife. _We will die first. I will make sure of it._

They could not escape, the camp was too far away, and they could not fight - stone knives against the might of a Maia? Gorthaur would crush them beneath his hand for the sheer joy of watching them in agony. 

_Celeborn will not suffer,_ the king told himself in a grief so profound it seemed unreal. A swift stroke to heart or throat and the youth would die before he had a chance to realise what had happened. Then Elu would use the knife on himself. It was only a matter of time. 

A moment passed, as the two elves held their breath, awaiting discovery, tensed, fighting the miasma of terror which flowed from Gorthaur like his shadowy cloak. Elu, in his crouch before Celeborn, suddenly felt slender fingers lace with his and squeeze gently, as if to say that he knew. He knew what Elu planned. He understood, and would not struggle, accepting death as a gift from one he loved; his Lord and King. His lover. 

At that thought, Elu's spirit mourned. He had not feared, when he accepted this love - the future of pleasure and warmth so generously offered - that it would be taken from him in the next heartbeat. Now it would be for him to stop the breath which had so sweetly mingled with his own, to steal the warmth from the lithe form, and the light from the green eyes, to watch as Celeborn's fëa was released from his body. Tears threatened, and he clenched his teeth. _I will make it quick, I promise you, melethron._

But something was wrong... The darkness was passing, oozing beyond them towards the trees in the far side of the clearing. Why was it not searching, casting about for any elf unfortunate enough to be caught in this storm? It had been within inches of discovering them. Why had it let them slip? 

In sudden, sinking horror, Elu realised what was happening. His throat closed as he saw that the Torturer did not search for one soul, or even a few. Gorthaur moved, silent and unstoppable, not wavering, nor seeking any other near his path, his goal now terrifyingly clear… His prey was the whole sleeping company of the Teleri - the frail tents, full of children. 

This was no snatch of a few hapless souls, caught away from their kindred, helpless and alone. This time many hundreds would be taken. Elu saw now the trap Gorthaur had laid, involving Oromë himself, manipulating the very Valar to his own purposes. 

When last the king had spoken with Oromë, the Vala had been puzzled and concerned. Evil had, for a time, drawn off, he said, and was at work on some unknown labour in the North. It was this he returned to Valinor to discuss with the other Powers. "I do not lightly leave your people alone," he had said, "But while evil gathers in the North you should be safe enough here for a time." 

Now Elu realised that whatever had recalled Oromë to Valinor, whatever design of Gorthaur's had caused Manwë to call a counsel, it had been a ruse; the Torturer's true intent was here, with the elves. 

His mind raced. Did he move now he would be seen and slain. But if he did not, all chance to warn his people would be gone, and the Cruel One would come upon the unsuspecting Elves like a ravening wolf, taking those he wished, killing the others. The ground would run red with the blood of Elu's slaughtered kin, and Gorthaur would glut his vampire form with stolen life. 

How to warn them? What chance was there to get to the camp first - in time enough to sound the horn of Oromë, time enough for the Valar's great horse to bear him back? Creeping darkness spread wide through the forest. Gorthaur would know, as soon as he stood. He would be stopped. And yet… And yet he would not calmly accept this fate for his people. He would not! 

He barely felt Celeborn's fingers slide from his as his mind raced along possible avenues of escape and he formed and discarded a dozen plans to warn his people. There must be a way…. 

Overhead, the storm still shrieked its fury. Wind whipped the tendrils of shadow spread over the clearing into ragged shreds, like a torn black cloak which flapped in the screaming violence of the storm. The noise was maddening, though as yet, the rain did not return, leaving the wind to howl its passion into the night alone. 

The darkness was almost across the clearing now, yet still the black tide lapped about them, surrounding them with its welling evil. Elu's fingers again tightened on the knife, and he half-turned to assure himself of Celeborn's position when the time came… 

But Celeborn was gone. 

Despite the danger, Elu gasped. On the ground, where the prince had lain propped against the tree, lay the bandage which had been bound tightly over the deep shoulder wound. Near it, the soaked ground was wet with a darker stain. His heart stopped in horror. He looked up, frantically searching, trying not to curse as fate was taken out of his hands. 

He noticed first that there was a gap in the surrounding tide of drifting shadow, a slight opening through which one who moved with swift precision could slip. And there was blood - just as in his imaginings - blood on the ground. An uneven trail of it ran in a thin stream from where Celeborn had lain, straight through the gap. Away from the camp. 

Awful realisation gripped Elu. _I taught him too well._ He recalled the night he had been discussing Valinor with his brothers - trying to explain the nature and limitations of the Maia. Celeborn, only recently having come of age, had sat next to his grandfather in silence, saying little, but listening intently, features grave and intent as he had absorbed all that he had heard, storing it for future reference. 

"They may put on or discard their _fana_ - their forms - as we change our clothing," Thingol had said, "But still they chose them with great care. The form has its own demands and at times can overrule the will of the one who wears it. Many dolphins - so Ulmo has said - who now chase in heedless joy through the waves were once servants of his, who have forgotten what they are because of the shape they chose to wear; who became what they wished to seem." 

He had little thought when he spoke with such reverence that he had been handing his kinsman a weapon to use against the greatest Maia of them all. For Gorthaur wore the fana of a vampire - as exquisitely sensitive to the scent, and as unable to resist the lure of spilled blood as a gliding shark. 

Knowing this, Celeborn must have unbound his wound, torn it open, until the blood ran down to his fingers, splashed onto the grass, and he had gone, laying a trail that would lead the monster away from his folk. Even as Elu watched, stomach heaving in revulsion and terror, a tendril of darkness moved over the bright spoor. It halted, and like an inquisitive animal, nosed again over the blood, testing, tasting. Elu saw it ripple with discovery, saw the knowledge pass along the undulating ribbon of shadow, into the very heart of the darkness itself. 

Gorthaur stopped. Elu could sense the Maia's attention like a cold breath against his soul. It shifted, its focus pulled aside by base obsession, as the body asserted its wants - the sweet, primal call of filling the mouth with blood, of escape from death, for just one moment. Having fought a similar battle himself, and lost, Elu could have pitied it - but that pity would have been wasted on one so cruel. 

Slowly, reluctantly, the darkness shifted, distracted, no longer singular in its purpose. Moving a fraction at a time, it turned, searching, diminishing. As the awe-inspiring power and dark majesty of Gorthaur's evil will was stripped from him he was reduced to a creature of addicted, hungry malice, bound into creeping, seeking need. Overwhelmed at last by the lusts of its ill-chosen form. 

And Celeborn had made himself its lure, its prize, the one thing which could sate its desire. 

It had his scent now. Elu watched, nausea threatening to choke him, as the creature bent to the ground. He heard, through a sudden lull in the howling gale, a quiet lapping sound. It turned its head, and its eyes were the colour of gore. 

Elu tensed to move. Though his heart was sickened and his soul rebelled, he would not go after his young lover. He would do what they both knew he must - take this offered chance to save his people. Heart breaking, but steady in purpose, Elu waited, and as soon as the creature was intent on its trail of elven blood, he moved silently into the howling storm, running swiftly for the unsuspecting Teleri camp. 

*** 

Celeborn stumbled on the rain-slick ground. His breath came in panting, terrified sobs as he pushed through the dense undergrowth. Thorns clutched at him. His chest burned with every ragged breath he drew. 

But these hurts were as nothing compared to the fire in his shoulder. Did it still bleed? Stopping for an instant he held a hand to the wound, dug his fingers in, opening it further, not caring that the agony made him scream. Doubtless his cries would prove another lure to the thing that followed. 

But still the bright flow lessened as his body sought to save itself - blood seeped under his fingertips, rather than welling. He could not afford to have his pursuer turn back, so he scooped a sharp stone from the ground and sawed its edges against the cut, deepening it. Immediately, he felt a warm rush over his hand and his head spun with dizziness as the blood ran freely once more from the widened wound. He had to keep Gorthaur after him, following the drugging scent of Elvish agony. 

Pain bloomed behind his eyes like a black rose. He knew he could have fallen into it and be lost. Instead he filled his mind with thoughts of another warmth spilling over his hand, another dampness hot and filled with the essence of life; the gift of Elu's body, the evidence of his love and desire. Celeborn held it in his heart as a talisman against the terror and agony of this night, against the certainty of his own death. 

Deeper into the forest, he forced his faltering steps onward. Dimly, he could hear a noise above the storm, a deep rushing sound, and he recalled the great river the elves had forded the day before. Knowing he could not reach it before the evil that tracked him fell upon him, still he lurched on, heart labouring as his body spent itself, forced to pause frequently, leaning against the comforting bulk of tree trunks as his ears strained for the sound of following death. 

Elu had returned to warn their people. Of that he was gladly sure. His King was no foolish _hero_ to put his people in needless peril for his own glory. Still, it would have been nice to be able to entertain the fantasy of rescue. Once Gorthaur caught him - and the Maia would catch him, for he was greater even in his diminishment than Celeborn, even had Celeborn not been half-slain by exertion and bloodloss - death would not be swift. He drew a shuddering breath at the thought, trying instead to focus on the hope that Elu could reach the elven camp in time; rouse the warriors and blow the horn-call of Oromë. 

As though his hope had summoned it, a high, pure note rang out, echoing and re-echoing among the trees, calling into the night. Oromë would hear it, Celeborn knew, and would come swiftly. His people would be safe, none lost to the overwhelming terror of the Torturer. 

None but himself. 

As the last golden notes faded, and the brightness left in their wake dimmed, there came a shuffling, hissing sound, close behind him. The creature came. Chained by its own body, pursuing a goal which made it ignore the ruin of its carefully laid ambush, it followed a trail of base need - of Elvish blood, scented and sweetened with pain and fear. 

As the pursuit drew closer, dizziness threatened to overwhelm Celeborn. He staggered, and fear waned with his strength. He knew not what form death would take, and likely he would be unconscious when it did stoop on him, but even if he were not, even if it was agonising and lingering, still he would hold to the knowledge that his people would live. 

Elu would live. 

It was worth this. Even if it had been to save Thingol alone, still it would have been worth it. 

His mouth was still full of the taste of Elu's skin. He could still feel the king's glorious surrender in the primal wildness of the storm, the cries of helpless yielding; the sobbing breath and desperation with which Elu had thrust into Celeborn's hand, giving himself completely to the younger elf. Driven to pleading cries as Celeborn had taken him over the edge into searing, soaring ecstasy, his hands had clutched at Celeborn as though at something wondrous, irreplaceable, as his body convulsed with pleasure. _If I have only that, to hold against the horror of what is to come, it is enough. And more._

He staggered again, shocked as he fell forward, not into more thorns, but into open space. In his weakness, above the roaring of his own blood in his ears and the shrieking of the storm, Celeborn had misjudged how close to the river he actually was. Pain pulsing through his body in sickening waves, he stumbled forward, saw it foaming white in the darkness of the night, already swollen by the torrential rain of the storm. 

Fear came upon him like a blow from without - like the strike of a mighty weapon. It mattered not that there was no true echo of it in his heart, still it crushed him, like the hammer of the underworld. _I am not afraid,_ he told himself, _I am not._ But a will other than his own stopped him, turned him, reluctant, sickened and fascinated, to face the thing that emerged from the trees behind him. 

It no longer shuffled along the ground. Some measure of control Gorthaur had found over himself, and now he stood tall, cloaked in nightshade. His eyes gleamed chill, but his dripping mouth was crimson, and it smiled in cruel enjoyment, for if his plans had been ruined, now, at least he would have revenge in full. 

One look at the river had been enough to tell Celeborn he would not survive a fall into its foaming, churning depths. The river spirits had been stirred by the storm into an angry mass of hissing foam and dangerous undercurrents. If he did not drown, he likely would be killed as he struck his head on one of the rocks that lay on the bed of the deep water. 

And in truth, it sat ill with him to throw his life away, out of fear. He would rather die fighting. .Searching the ground near him, he looked for something, _anything_ with which to he could attack the hideous thing. Its will was bent on him now - commanding him to look at it. With all his stubborness he resisted. He would look when he was ready, not before. Until then, his warrior's soul demanded that there must be a weapon with which he could at least strike at the abomination. Perhaps he could, even now, injure Gorthaur, do him some harm. His pride demanded it, his courage bore the impulse out. 

But there was nothing. No branch lay near his feet, no rock was near at hand. 

Gorthaur laughed at his searching. Yet the laugh was hollow to Celeborn's ears; almost disappointed, full of fury. The Cruel One wanted him to cringe, to beg for life and at the end, for death. It knew that it had had to compel the terror Celeborn now felt, that the young warrior before it felt in truth nothing of the kind. Rage seethed in the cold eyes, breath hissed between sharp teeth as the great vampire glided forward, close now, exuding malice, radiating desire to break the elf who stood proudly before it. 

Celeborn stood quiet, standing as straight as pain and dizziness would allow. He lifted his head, staring straight at the Maia, and his expression was one of disdain. In that moment, caught on the cusp of death, he was unaware that his beauty was such that Gorthaur felt it as physical pain - an unwelcome rebuke and reminder of what he himself had once been. Gorthaur's hatred grew. 

But to Celeborn's fading mind came only an image of Elu, strong and loving. It was, no doubt, the last image he would ever see. And he was glad, thinking of the proud tilt of Elu's head, the warlike beauty, the smile, dazzling in its brightness; the grey eyes, filled with a light of marvellous trees, which Celeborn now would never see. One final time, he admired the silver-steel hair, falling over wide shoulders, the tall, strongly muscled body, the long, powerful legs as the king stood straight and tall between Celeborn and his tormentor. 

Feeling rather than seeing Gorthaur step closer, Celeborn smiled faintly. Three more steps and it would be on him. But he cared not. He was dying, and Elu was here. That was all that mattered. 

He drew a deep breath, his smile a fair, sweet thing, as the hooked iron claws slid from beneath the vampire's cloak, and Gorthaur hesitated between the body's desire to drink, and the spirit's desire to marr and ruin such sickening innocence. Normally, they cowered, whimpering in fear. This one did not, and the Maia's hatred almost choked him as he stalked closer. 

In Celeborn's mind, Elu raised his knife, the dim light gleamed down the length of the stone blade. 

Stone. He had long lost the feeling in his fingers but when he clenched them he could dimly guess the cut and seep of blood as the edges of the stone he had picked up earlier bit into his flesh. He nodded slightly to himself. Sharp enough. 

He would wait until Gorthaur was another step closer, then he would cut the Maia's throat. 

The mere attempt, he knew, would be utter folly - he could scarcely move, and his sight was failing. He would fall into Gorthaur's grasp as spent and powerless as an autumn leaf. But he would try. With his last breath he would try. 

In his mind, Elu's lips brushed his own. 

_Melethron,_ the king whispered. 

_I hear you, my beloved Lord,_ Celeborn whispered back. _Farewell._

*** 


	7. Chapter 7

*** 

Elu sprinted into camp, silver hair wild about his face, his shouts echoing loudly between the silent tents. Urgency and anguish trailed him, almost visibly, and the camp's guards did not hinder him, but ran by his side, weapons in hand, awaiting his command. 

Hearing their King's shouted warning, elves ran out of tents and shelters, pulling on armour of heavy leather, readying for battle. Mothers and children gathered with the speed of long practice into the centre of the camp, warriors quickly forming an armed ring about them. None wasted time to question or wonder, they simply moved, warrior, woman and child into their given positions. Hesitation meant death. The graves of those they had lost to confusion marked their passage to the sea. 

Knife in hand, Elu shouted instructions over his shoulder as he ran. Warriors followed him until they received their orders, then peeled off to carry them out, moving with disciplined grace and speed. In moments, the camp was as well defended as its position allowed. All stood ready. 

Elu skidded to a halt outside his tent. Ducking under the flap he seized the horn of Orome which lay by his pallet, tore it from its wrappings, bore it outside where he could straighten, lifting it to his lips. He blew. The clear note pierced his spirit, soaring through the storm, splintering it with silver-gold light. And with that note Elu's mind and heart cried out, reaching - hopelessly - for the one he knew already lost to evil this night. 

The call was sounded, and the note died away. Though his people watched him, Elu could no longer restrain his grief. He sank to his knees, the horn gripped tightly against him. It was done, Oromë would come. The sacrifice would prove acceptable, and Celeborn's life would pay - this time - for the lives of his people... Elu bowed his head, weeping, his arms wrapped tight around the great emptiness within him. 

_Melethron,_ he whispered into the tempest, forehead touching the soaked ground. 

Faint, and far off, a young, clear voice answered him. _I hear you, my beloved Lord._

And a light kindled in Elu's heart - desperate, painful. His head snapped up, his breath shortened with shock. Celeborn clung, barely, to life, and was about to throw even that remnant away in a last stand of heroic stupidity - or despair. 

_Farewell._

"NO!!!" 

Elu's scream rent the night in two, turned every head. Careless of dignity and rumour he shot to his feet, bolted for the trees from which he had just emerged. His household warriors, Nowë among them, made to follow. 

'No!' he shouted at them, 'Stay here! Wait for Oromë!' 

They stopped, obedient, but uncertain, and Nowe - who had been old when Elu was but a child - said 'My Lord? What is it?' 

'Gorthaur.' Elu shouted, not staying his pace. 'So that I might return and sound the horn, Celeborn drew him off. I thought surely at the cost of his life. But it is not so. He lives!' 

'We will go with you.' 

'No! What will the extra force help, save to draw Gorthaur's wrath? Alone I may pass unseen. Now do as I bid and stay!' Then he was running, reaching out, following the faint warmth, the dimming light of his young kinsman's failing life. 

Trapped, cornered and dying, Celeborn stood alone, would fall alone. Was falling, even now. _No,_ Elu moaned in silent anguish as he ran, pushing roughly through undergrowth, sprinting down deer trails, begging over and over, _Do not! I am coming, please…_

*** 

Celeborn staggered, reeling a little under the pressure of darkness. He had said farewell, now he must strike, while he could still stand. There was a roaring in his ears like that of the great Sea, drowning out the noise of the river behind him. It seemed he would reach Valinor long before the rest of his folk. 

But as his mind turned inward, marvelling at the approach of death, there came instead - comet-fiery and majestic, but terribly afraid - the life filled presence of Elu Thingol. 

_Celeborn! Do not do this. I command you, do not! I am coming…_

Shadow stepped closer. The great wings of darkness mantled over him, stretching, spreading until they filled his sight. Claws reached for him, poised in anticipation over belly and face, wondering, perhaps which to rend first. 

_It is too late,_ he murmured to the frantic king, _I love you, and I have no regrets._

He could feel Elu sobbing, taste gulped breaths of rain-filled air, but he himself was at peace, detached from horror. The breath of the great vampire fell on his face. Cold, and filled with a thousand whispering voices, it told him of the endless emptiness and despair which awaited him, ruined, twisted, never allowed to die. 

At that threat, revulsion stirred again - distantly, wearily. He moved, a slow step away. They seemed caught - he and the Maia - in a moment of nothingness, and he was afraid to break it either by attack or flight. If he did either, the end would come. 

_The river!_ Elu screamed into his mind, _Celeborn, the river! Please try…I will find you!_

A clawed hand touched the back of Celeborn's neck. Freezing, and slick as icicles, the flesh was wet, and trembled with unclean desire. His skin crawled at the touch. How could a Maia, even one such as Gorthaur, be reduced to this? How could power enough to shape the world sate itself leech-like on innocent blood? This twisted, lusting creature had once been as holy as Orome. What if its intention was not only to kill, to feed, but to turn? _Could it make me as foul as it is? Oh Valar! No!... No!_

_Celeborn…listen to me!_

In that moment, he understood. What faced him now was not his body's destruction but his spirit's damnation. The Maia would drink, yes, but not to death; for what Gorthaur truly desired was to pervert and ruin what had once been pure. To make it like himself. And to that fate Celeborn would not go calmly. 

He made his decision. Taking a final step back he opened his eyes. Gorthaur stood before him, as a mountain crowned with storm and shadow. A cruel flame was in his eyes, and a chill vapour flowed from him, pooling at his feet into a lake of darkness. Tall, he seemed, and terrible, with a barbed and blood-drenched beauty, twisted as a hook of steel. Watching it, Celeborn took a deep steadying breath, found in himself the remembered pride, the triumph, he had felt seeing his power over Elu. Then he raised his chin, looked Gorthaur in the eye, and smiled. 

Gorthaur gazed down at the elf before him, one hand resting on the back of its neck, on the smooth warm skin. It had been worth delaying the end just to see the shock of realization which had stiffened the disgusting child's back, made the pulse flutter beneath his fingers. They always expected to die; they were always so disappointed to find otherwise. This one had lasted longer than most, and it owed Gorthaur _much_ entertainment to make up for the disappointment of his plans. Slowly, and thoroughly, he would strip the body, fibre from fibre, muscle from bone, and while it screamed in horror he would put it back together in a more pleasing design. 

He lifted a talon, sheathed in pitted iron, judging the angle at which to slit the elf's belly to cause the most pain without allowing death. He had to do it quickly, binding the elf to him with blood and terror, ere mere accidental wounds snatched the fea out of his grasp. 

The elf trembled, stumbled backwards, and then, shockingly, wrongly, against nature, it looked up at him - at his insupportable terror and majesty - and it smiled. Gorthaur's dark soul recoiled. Why would it smile? Why would it look at him in triumph? _He_ would not look so unless... 

Measuring Celeborn's defiance by his own wisdom, Gorthaur came to an inevitable, shocking conclusion. Just as he might sometimes send out one of his captains to die, drawing out his enemies by apparent weakness, this elf must be only the bait in a trap the Valar had set for _him_. It rejoiced now because it knew that Gorthaur would die with it; it smiled because of its own cleverness, drawing _his_ neck into the noose... 

Defeated by his own paranoia, Gorthaur's clawed hand slipped from the back of Celeborn's neck. The claw at his belly faltered. 

It was all the chance Celeborn needed. Half-turning, feeling Elu in his mind, closer now, running flat out, he reached mental fingers to his king, even as he flung himself out of Gorthaur's grasp and off the steep shelving bank of the river. 

Gorthaur screamed in fury, and Elu in fear and frantic hope. But of the two, Elu's voice was the stronger and it was his cry Celeborn held to as the churning, icy waters closed over his head, the warmth of Elu's fingers clasped in his own. 

*** 

As he felt Celeborn's leap, Elu heart lurched in his chest. He felt the youth reach out to him, imploring touch, desperate for warmth. In his mind, he flung a hand out, seeking and catching slender fingers, holding the faltering spirit to life. _I will find you!_ he shouted to the presence in his mind, _Do not leave me!_

But there was no answer. Celeborn had used the last of his strength to throw himself into the river. He lay unconscious, tossed by its currents. Or at least, so Elu hoped. Forcing himself onward, questing for the mental signature that said, _Celeborn,_ he did not allow himself to consider the other explanation for that sudden silence. 

Rain began again, lashing down in vicious streams. The undergrowth was thick and tangled. Elu pushed through it, barely seeing what was before him. He struggled for calm, hearing the churning chaos of the river above the roar of the storm. Somewhere in that maelstrom, Celeborn's body was being tossed like a fallen leaf. He had to get to the river! He had to be in time to find the boy; to grab a hold. Yet he could see nothing in this storm. It could already be too late - he could have been long swept past. Or dead - skull crushed against the boulders in the river. Or pinned and drowning even as Elu blundered uselessly around in the dark. 

Calm, Elu told himself, _ I must be calm._ But fear shortened his breath, leaving him panting with the urge to panic. How had this happened? How had they come to this? 

It did not matter any more. What mattered was finding his young kinsman, his lover, and finding him soon. 

Elu had no fear of Gorthaur this night. He had felt enough from Celeborn's mind to sense the Maia's utter shock when the young elf had smiled up at him. Somehow he knew that Gorthaur had gone, retreated from a threat his own thoughts had conjured. They would have to be more vigilant from now on, for this night would surely have increased the Torturer's unreasoning, bitter hatred of the elves ten-fold. 

Irony twisted Elu's mouth as he pushed through the forest, sprinting where the undergrowth thinned enough to allow it. Gorthaur was powerful enough to throw down mountains and reduce fruitful fields to dust and ash; yet he had been utterly defeated by his own folly, and the courage of one young elf. Smiling grimly, Elu continued his search. 

The voice of the river was deafeningly loud now, he could see its foaming fury through the trees, startlingly white in the flash of the lightning overhead. He pressed toward it, squinting through the rain, Elvish sight trying to pierce the shadows of the howling storm. _Hold on, melethron. Hold on. I am almost here._

*** 

Hours later, Elu slumped in exhausted defeat at the base of a tall oak. He had searched relentlessly, frantically calling with both mind and voice. Obsessively checking, again and again, for some sign in the seething waters of a floating body, of silver hair entangled in the rushing, headlong current. 

He had run, for leagues up the riverbank, and then back down, and up again. Hoping, praying for _something_ to tell him if Celeborn still lay in the raging torrent, or had been washed up on a hidden bank, unconscious and bleeding, his spirit fading… 

But there was nothing. Nothing to tell him if his new found love was alive or dead. 

_He is dead._ Too weary to weep Elu stumbled to a halt, reached out for the comforting presence of a nearby tree and fell to his knees, its strength at his back. _He is dead._

Raw, unable to contemplate that agonizing bereavement, Elu's mind turned to his nephew Galadhon. What could he possibly say to explain to the shattered elf how his son had come to be injured in the first place, let alone lost and pursued by an evil Maia in the dark heart of a summer storm? _I will lose all. My whole family has been taken from me, in one blow._ Galadhon would find it hard to forgive him. And Elmo, his beloved younger brother... what would he say? What would he think? For Elu must tell them the truth. Celeborn would wish it, and Elu's own honour demanded it, however much pain at the perceived dishonour it would cause them. 

_It is *not* dishonour!_ The love and desire he and his kinsman had barely had time to discover, seemed still nothing worse to Elu than truth. Honesty. A purity of feeling intense as the touch of a glede. But Celeborn was gone, and somehow Elu doubted his nephew would see it that way. _Still I will lose all. And I deserve it. For exposing him to Gorthaur's evil, abandoning him to his death. I deserve all the censure they can pour on me, and more._

In the darkness of the storm, Thingol mourned, guilt streaking through his grief like the blood that had rained upon the ground from his lover's wound. 

***

_Elu, my King. Help me, please…_

He flinched. The voice had been in his mind, a figment of his tortured sorrow. He forced it away, reaching once more for the numbed oblivion of pain. 

But it spoke again, softly demanding. _My Lord, where are you? I cannot see…_

'Cannot see?' That was a strange thing for a houseless spirit to say. And even as he thought it, Elu felt a tentative warmth in his mind, a weak presence in the void where Celeborn had been. Hope went through Elu like a blade - as shocking and as sharp. 

_Celeborn?_

A weary trickle of relief. _Elu, where are you? I cannot move. But take care! Gorthaur is…._

_Gorthaur is gone,_ There would be time enough later to collapse under the weight of this reprieve, so unlooked for, so joyous, the king told himself. But now he must act, or all might still be in vain. 

As the younger elf scrambled for lucid moments amid a deepening swoon, the mind-touch faded in and out. It was marvel enough, Elu thought, that he could speak at all - he had lost blood enough to kill him, fallen into icy, raging waters. And a new injury pounded in sickening agony through his mind, darkening his eyes, fraying an already weakened spirit. 

_Where are you?_ Thingol asked, keeping his mind-touch as reassuring as he might, muffling and disguising his own fear. _You say you cannot see? What can you hear?_

He could tell that Celeborn was utterly spent, craving for rest, even if it be the rest of death. But then he felt the younger elf assert his will, getting himself under control, forcing himself to provide Elu with the information the king needed. 

_I must have hit my head. All is uproar... No, wait. A waterfall. Large... not far away._

Two days ago they had passed such a fall. At once Elu launched himself along the deer trail which followed the river. _I know where that is. Stay there, I am coming._

A faint laugh sounded in his mind, _I can do little else, my king._

The Teleri host had been too great to follow this narrow way, and had taken a longer, winding course, so Elu, racing like an arrow in flight, came swiftly to the mists and great music of the cataract. A fume of billowing mithril, it was, awe inspiring and terrible. But he spared it not a glance, keen eyes raking the river below him. A cliff. Trees visible in a cleft of rock. A glimpse of spilled silver in reflected light. Lightning flashed and he was sure of it. His heart lurched and leapt in painful joy. 

Celeborn lay half out of the water, on the sandy bank of an island in the middle of the river - little more than a rock with a few dark caves - where the current split into two and swept past in a confusion of many whirlpools. His hand was outstretched but moved only with the current - his head lolled, unconscious. The shoulder wound still bled a trickle and his face was pale, but for the huge bruise over one temple, livid and black. 

Elu drew a deep breath, and relief became panic once more as he realized the distance was too great to jump. Stepping into the current he was almost swept off his feet. The strongest swimmer could not breach that gap. A roar of frustration and fury and disbelief began in his chest, tried to push its way out. This could not be! How could he have come this far and not be able to pass the last few yards? How could they have come alive through Gorthaur's threat, only to be beaten by a ribbon of water? It could not be! 

By main force he choked back the outburst of denial. He was a king, he would act like one. 

And at that thought an idea came to him. The elves had their kings, and the land had its own rulers - it's Masters, it's Ladies. Schooling his mind to calm, he knelt, on the earth by the riverbank, and bowed his head. Wind blew his wet hair into his face stingingly, as he stilled, extending his senses, seeking for the one to whom this part of Ennor had been entrusted. Oldest, fatherless… 

And she was there, turning towards him. Her eyes were green as Celeborn's, her gown made of leaves, silver-green in the landscape through which Elu walked. 

Elu bowed low to her. _Lady,_ he said with quiet reverence. 

She sat among green things, camomile and thyme scenting the air beneath her feet. Ivy entwined the arms of her chair, which were of living oak. Beech and ash formed the back, all three growing as one tree for her use and honour. Lady of this wood, answering only to Yavanna. 

Curious, she tilted her head. _Who are you?_

_I am Elu Thingol, Lady._

_Why have you come here? Your people have their own guardians. What have I to do with you?_

Elu smiled, despite his urgency. _May not the elves and the land respect and help one another? I have felt you, lady, in the shadows of this forest, in its cool silences and its warm breezes. I have heard the trees sigh your name, and hoped we had your goodwill, as you have ours._

At his soft words the Lady smiled. _Your kind are young,_ she said, _And presumptuous. You seek my help? By what right?_

She tested his knowledge and his courage. Knowing it, he did not hesitate with either. _I ask by right of my body,_ he said with some pride. _This night was my seed mingled with the earth of this forest. I am glad that it was so. In the name of him by whom the offering was made, I ask for your aid._

Rising and coming closer to Elu, the Lady lifted a hand. He could smell night-blooming flowers and the sweetness of new growth in her hair and on her gown of leaves. Placing her delicate hand on his cheek, she stared into his eyes for what seemed a long time. Then she sighed and her smile was as fair as springtime. She nodded, once and lowered her hand. 

_It was well done,_ she said, in a voice no louder than a whisper of air, _And by virtue of the love by which the offering was made, I will grant your request. I will speak with the river daughter. She will calm her waters, so that you may cross. But be swift, she has been angered this night, and it is only for the love of me that she will do this much._

Elu bowed low once more and hesitated, wanting to rush away, yet not wanting to be discourteous. Her parting smile was radiant. _ Go, King of the Elves, save your lover, with my blessing._

As the forest in his mind faded, Elu opened his eyes to the darkness of the storm. The waterfall still thundered, but the river was briefly calm. He plunged into it, swam it as swiftly as he might, pulled himself out on the other bank. And as soon as he left the water, it rose again, roaring in fury. Elu turned and bowed to the river and to the Lady. _My thanks to you both._

In his mind, the Lady's smile was the briefest of caresses. 

Turning his back on wonder, Elu sped to Celeborn's side, half afraid to touch the broken body lest he do more harm. The youth's skin was cold as death and as pale. After checking he would do no injury by moving him, he gathered the boy into his arms and carried him into the shelter of the cave. 

It was dry and bare. Lying Celeborn down gently on its sandy floor, he looked it over swiftly, hoping for driftwood, something to burn. There was nothing. Elu bit back another scream of frustration. He needed a fire! Needed to warm Celeborn, and quickly, ere the chill struck at his heart. 

_I will not lose you now, melethron! I will not!_ Stripping off his wet tunic, and Celeborn's ruined clothes he sat cross legged and lifted the boy once more into his embrace, holding him like a child, cradled close. Leaning forward, he blanketed the freezing body with his own. 

Tangled mithril hair lay in damp strands across Celeborn's battered face. Lifting a gentle hand, Elu moved the wet locks from the still, pale skin. Bruises bloomed beneath Celeborn's closed eyes, and there was a faint blue tinge to the sensual mouth. At the sight Elu made a soft sound of distress, unheard in his pitiless solitude. He bent his head and began to rock gently back and forth, singing quietly, snatches of song once used to soothe the nightmares of this boy, when he had been a boy in truth; when he had fitted into Elu's encircling arms and slept thus, protected from all the world. 

The words eluded him, and the tunes faltered. Trying to do _something_ he wiped sluggishly oozing blood from Celeborn's shoulder, holding his wet shirt against it. There seemed little point in making a bandage while cold was the swifter killer. 

Outside, the storm still raged. Ragged clouds raced across the sky, and the rain lashed down in torrents. The swollen, angry river was become a trap for them both, holding them here far from a healer's help. It could be days before the tempest subsided. But death... death would come in mere hours. 

Despairing, out of options, Elu pulled his young lover closer. Celeborn's lips were still faintly blue. Leaning down, Elu settled his lips on the firm cushion of Celeborn's mouth, so softly they barely touched. It was the slightest of caresses, part kiss, part sharing of warmth. He could feel the young man's shallow, failing breath against his mouth; taste the slow withdrawal into darkness. 

With nothing else he could do, Elu continued his gentle touches, occasionally moving to softly kiss the bruised flesh under Celeborn's eyes and at his temple. All the time he sang on, or murmured nonsense, endearments, heartfelt pleading. Never had he felt so helpless. Celeborn was dying and nothing would prevent it. Nothing at all. 

At the last, with the painful ineptitude of a man not used to crying, he wept. He had done all that he could do, and it was not enough. He sat, staring down into Celeborn's face, and watched as life slowly ebbed from the fair features. 

Thus it was that Oromë found them. 


	8. Chapter 8

Orome stepped quietly into the dimness of the cave. The Lady had come to him as he rode in chase of Gorthaur, and had spoken to him of this more pressing need. Now, he beheld Elu in greater weakness than he had ever seen. The Elven-King sat on the sandy floor of the cave, weeping. His head was bowed, his fallow-silver hair fell forward, failing to veil the tears on his cheeks; his dying kinsman cradled close in his arms. Such grief! It reached out to the Vala with a power he had once seen in the face of Iluvatar, basked in daily as Manwe and Varda gazed on one another... Here indeed was love. Seeing it, the Vala was moved, not to pity, but to respect. 

Many things Orome knew: the deepest secrets of the heart. These he kept apart and did not judge; for the beautiful Children of Ilúvatar were not in all ways alike to the Valar, and much concerning them was strange to him. It did not lessen his regard for them, nor his wonder at their courage. 

Great were the gifts of strength and nobility, mind and will, which were given to Elu Thingol, mighty among the kings of the Eldar. But the Vala saw also the weariness of rule that oftentimes lay heavy on him. Daily he emptied himself, striving to his utmost for his people, and asked nothing in return. For that reason and others, had Oromë turned back from his pursuit of evil and come now to this place. 

Oromë's gaze rested briefly on the Elf the king held. He sighed, and the breeze he stirred flowed over the injured youth with a gentle warmth. Here was another who did not deserve such pain - who was wholehearted, pure and steadfast. Moreover, the Music sang of deeds yet to be done in his future; great deeds and small, much sorrow yet also much joy. The death towards which he slid with every slow moment was not his destiny, and many would be left loveless by his passing. 

How strong they were, these children of the One, and yet how fragile. Fair as the stars under which they dwelt. Briefly, the Vala was filled with a great rage against Melkor and his servants. Why were they so vile? Why take these innocent, wondrous creatures, and do _this_ to them? How _could_ they? Well...he would thwart it where he could. 

Silently, Oromë stepped into the cave. Elu was aware of nothing but the body he held, the spirit he clutched at as it faded under his hands. When he felt the warm touch on his shoulder, he started, looking up with utter shock into the face of the Power. As ever, the presence of the Vala awed him. Despite his anguish he bowed his head in reverence, though he did not trust his voice enough to speak. 

Orome knelt, so that he could better look into Celeborn's face. Silent, hardly daring to breathe or hope, Elu watched as Oromë placed his large, faintly radiant hand over Celeborn's labouring heart. The youth was almost gone, his body felt already less substantial in Elu's arms, as though the departing fëa burnt it up from within. What could even a Vala do now? 

Eyes full of mingled flame closed, and it appeared to Elu that Oromë spoke, silently, with some unseen power; requesting something, humbly as a liegeman to his Lord. There was silence for many moments, a breathless hush. Even the storm raging outside grew quieter. Elu bit his lip, tasted blood, yearned to plead, but knew that all he could possibly say was already known. At length, Oromë raised his head. 

'He will live.' The voice of the Huntsman was its own healing, lifting the heart, stirring the spirit to valour. Hearing it, a measure of Elu's strength returned - self possession enough not to collapse, but to whisper, in something close to dignity, 'My thanks, my Lord.' He looked down at Celeborn. Already the boy breathed more easily, and his skin flushed into warmth beneath Elu's hands. For a moment Elu teetered on the sharp peaks of too many emotions - wanting to howl with tears, to laugh, to pick his lover up and engulf him, or to set him down as something too delicate to be touched. In the chaos of feeling he looked up, and for a moment, the eyes of Elf and Vala met. Much passed between them. And at its end, Elu drew a deep, cleansing breath; a burden lifted from him. 

Oromë made as if to rise. Impulsively, Elu reached out a hand to stay him. 'My Lord? There is a thing I would ask if you would hear it.' He hesitated, but briefly, ' Much has passed this night, much has been endured, and averted. My people are tired and afraid. My place is with them, but…' Elu looked up into the eyes of Oromë as he spoke, into a quiet, golden gaze, compelling as the embers of a fire. Beneath such a scrutiny he found he could not voice his selfish request after all. He looked away, disappointed in himself. Then he felt gentle fingers on his chin, turning his head, forcing his reluctant gaze back to meet that of the Vala. 

Knowledge was in the calm gaze of Oromë. But he said only, 'You grow weary of rule and would rest for a short while, alone with your kinsman, who has suffered much hurt. Until you are both healed in spirit and body, ready take up the mantle of responsibility once more, you wish to be left in peace for a time.' 

The Vala's words had not been a question, but Elu nodded nevertheless, prepared to be rebuked for wanting too much, but glad now that he had at least made the attempt. 

Then Orome smiled in a flare of brightness and warmth. 'Rest then, until you are well again. I will watch over your people and reassure them that you live. They will assume you are gone to warn Finwë and Ingwë of Gorthaur's renewed presence. And, if you would not give me the lie, you will do that yourselves on the way back.' 

'Gladly, my Lord,' Elu beamed with joy and relief, 'We will not forget.' 

Oromë stood, once more looking down on the two Elves, 'Then rest.' His voice faded into the perpetual twilight, 'And find comfort, children of the One.' 

*** 

Elu lowered his head in wordless, boundless gratitude, and when he next looked up, the Vala was gone. But in his place was a new glow. Turning his head, careful not to jar the now sleeping Celeborn, he saw a fire burning brightly in the centre of the cave. Warmth caressed him; the first of many blessings. For close to the crackling flames there lay a large bundle of furs, thick and soft. Next to the furs their weapons were stacked; bows, arrows and knife. Baskets, sitting against one wall, were filled with nuts and berries, and with many other foods, herbs and wine. Enough to feed the two of them for almost a seven-night. 

His gaze moving on, Elu saw a bundle which clearly contained both their clothes. On top lay a comb of bone, intricately carved. 

Laying Celeborn gently down in the fire's warmth, Elu went over and picked the comb up, turning it over in his hands. It was not of Elvish make, and it had clearly been placed on top of their personal belongings so that he would see it. Its design was of intertwined leaves, oak, beech, ash and of camomile and thyme. The Lady's gift then. He smiled at the thought of her wisdom and complicity. Who would have thought the very land herself understood how special, how sensual their hair was to the Elves. He sent his heart's silent thanks to her, amused. 

A soft moan came to him, barely audible above the violence of the night. Dropping the comb, Elu sprinted to his kinsman's side. The younger elf's eyes opened slowly, his gaze bleak with pain, unfocused. Giving an involuntary sob, Elu half lifted the boy, holding him close. At the movement, Celeborn coughed and winced. Then he reached up slowly, searching Elu's face with his fingers. The king's heart contracted painfully at the reminder that Celeborn could not see. 

'You found me.' Pain edged his voice, but his smile was real - weary but full of trust. 

'How could I not, when you called me?' Feeling the abused muscles tense and tremble, the sightless eyes narrow in anxiety, Thingol said soothingly 'Be still. We are safe here. The danger is past.' 

'Where...?' 

Elu laughed softly, 'Where are we?' he repeated, unsure how to explain . 'We are safe. And for a few precious days, we are alone. There is food here, and warmth. Outside it is cold and dark, but here, melethron, we two will be warm.' He stopped, letting his words sink in, and after a moment, Celeborn's eyes widened in incredulous joy, then filled with tears. 

'Melethron,' he repeated, reaching for his king's hand. 

But even that small gesture made him frown. He winced again. 'Oh,' he mourned softly, ' I cannot move, cannot see, how can I possibly…?' 

Elu's lips stopped the words and Celeborn gasped at the warm firmness of the King's mouth, moving gently against his own. ''Twill be temporary. You will not be hindered long, I feel. And in the meantime,' he paused, and his voice purred wickedly, 'There are ways....' 

Despite his pounding head, the pain in his shoulder, his sheer weariness, Celeborn smiled. But as Elu's mouth began to caress his more firmly, he responded willingly, opening his mouth to the loving onslaught. When their tongues touched, Elu groaned and reluctantly pulled away. He rested his head lightly on Celeborn's uninjured shoulder, saying, 'But not tonight. You need to recover before we begin to explore... the wonders of this cave.' 

Carefully, he helped the young man sit, resting him against the smooth wall of the cave, then draped a cloak of fine, soft fur about his shoulders. Moving to the rear of the cave, where most of the fire's warmth would be trapped overnight, he set out a soft bed of thickly piled furs. As he looked down at the nest he had created for them, Elu felt his stomach tighten; imagining what was likely to happen on those furs in the days to come. His mouth was dry at the thought of Celeborn, naked and writhing beneath his hands and mouth, begging for his touch, the surge of his body... 

Pushing away the thought for them moment, ignoring his body's instant response, he straightened, tried to calm the sudden, ravenous desire. But Celeborn had noticed his stillness, heard the catch of his breath. Now he turned his unseeing gaze in Elu's direction. 'What are you doing?' 

Wrapped in the fur cloak, firelight flickered on the brightness of Celeborn's hair, turned the cream skin of his shoulders a warm gold, luminous and beautiful. Elu swallowed, 'I am preparing our bed.' 

Silently, a little shy, Celeborn smiled, flushing slightly in the dancing light. At the sight, Elu groaned inwardly. _He is all innocence and temptation_. But - as the king had already discovered - it was innocence with no tempering of reluctance or restraint; eager to learn anything Elu might teach, and not be long in demanding the advantage. At the thought, he groaned again, out loud this time. 

It was going to be a long night. 

*** 

Later, they sat in the warmth of their furs, drinking warmed, spiced wine in horn cups. The fire was built up with large logs, burning steadily, and its gleam had settled into deep saffron, heady with resin-sweetness. The rough, grey walls of the cave were shot through with white quartz, and in that light it shone like beaten gold, or glittered like harvest stars. A freshet to the rear of the cave trickled over lime-smoothed rock and fed a small but deep pool, whose outlet joined the river through the cave mouth. The voices of both waters were quietly soothing in the crystalline dimness, mingling with the peaceful sigh and snap of the embers. 

Celeborn's shoulder was salved, packed with herbs and bound tightly in bandages of soft leather. It had at last stopped bleeding, though Elu had been forced to stitch it closed with a length of sinew before it would cease. Now, the wine Celeborn held was heavily spiced to cover the bitterness of willow-bark and poppy, and the pain of the bone needle in the lips of the wound, added to memories of terror and death, made him shiver, quaking in Elu's embrace. Only as the herbs began to take effect was he able to explain, in a quiet, halting voice, the chase; how he had been brought to bay by the vampire Maia; how close he had come to death, and worse. 

'But I could feel you with me,' the young Elf whispered, 'It…helped. He saw I was not afraid, and so he forced me to be so. I knew then that he did not intend to kill me, that he....' Celeborn drew a slow steadying breath, caught once more by the horror of Gorthaur, 'At the end...I doubt I could have escaped him without your strength.' 

Elu shuddered with his own memories, shifting a little so that the youth's tired head could rest on his shoulder. 'I felt you,' he murmured into the soft warmth of silver hair, 'And I felt him. I could not bear to lose you.' Drawing away, he looked into unseeing eyes, 'Forgive me, for what could have been?' 

Celeborn smiled softly and laid the backs of gentle fingers against Elu's cheek, caressing the smooth skin. "I ask you not to forget, my Lord, that I am a warrior of the Lindar. If it is my duty to die for my king, I do it gladly. All the more gladly, since that king is you. You bear no blame for my choices.' 

Silent for a moment, Elu watched the golden glow of the fire reflected in eyes that were otherwise fathomless as the night sky. 'That I know,' he said finally, 'But know this, Lord Celeborn,' his voice took on the strength and timbre it had when he spoke as leader of his people, 'This day you have earned your place in the ranks of those held in highest honour of our people. You have the gratitude of the King.' 

The pronouncement of formal reward, given in the tones of a sovereign, set a distance between them that he had not intended. His lover was deferent, tentative when he asked 'And what of Elu?' 

Trying to quash that moment of separation, he held the boy closer, his cheek and the edge of his mouth resting on the sleek, heavy warmth of silken hair, 'Of Elu you have respect, admiration...' Hesitating, only momentarily, hoping truth would be unmistakable in his words, he finished '… of Elu you have love.' 

Celeborn went still, startled. Then he leaned forward to kiss Elu's throat, 'As you have mine.' 

Elu turned his head to meet Celeborn's lips. 'It is a gift I dreamed not of.' 

They sat in silence, listening to the peace of the night, allowing the terror and pain to fade, to be replaced with a creeping lassitude both struggled hard to resist. At length, Elu took the cup from his young kinsman's hand and placed it beside the bed. 'Now,' he said archly, 'We should sleep, so that you may heal... else our time here will be wasted.' 

Celeborn smiled at the gently teasing tone, 'Ah,' he murmured, paying it back in kind, 'And we would not wish that, would we, my King?' 

In the depths of the night Elu watched the fire as it burned to glowing embers. With the sweet warmth of the young man in his arms, curled into the haven of his body, Thingol recalled his earlier wish. Their lives were uncertain and dangerous, this day proved that with horrifying clarity. But for this precious time, knowing his people were safe, Elu could rest, take delight in comfort and the presence of his beautiful lover in his arms. For more than that, he could not wish. 

He settled into the softness of the furs, cradling the youth he held with gentle reverence, resting his cheek once more against Celeborn's bright hair. Soon after, the cave was silent but for the snapping of the dying fire, playing its light over two elves, one curled around the other, holding him close, utter peace on their fair faces. 

*** 

Celeborn woke and stretched his lithe body. He winced a little at the pain in his shoulder, but he could feel that already it was beginning to heal. The rest of him was stiff and sore but, to a young immortal, such things were as nothing. It would pass, working itself out as he moved. 

More troubling was the fact that he still could not see. It was disconcerting to be thus vulnerable - unable to know his surroundings beyond the reach of touch - but surely it would heal. He would not permit himself any other thought. It would heal. Until then, isolated in this velvet-dark world of warmth, he would rely on his other senses, and on Elu. 

The thought made turn his head, smile with incredulous joy. The king's breathing had changed - he was awake. Now the arms which held him fast to the strong body tightened as Elu sighed, voice still drowsy as he murmured, 'You do not know how often I have dreamt of this. To wake, with you in my arms. Now that it is so, I fear my mind is deceiving me.' 

Twisting gingerly, so that he lay on his back, Celeborn reached out with his uninjured arm. His fingers met hard muscle beneath skin to which clung the scent of galingale and ginger. Touching, exploring, he heard Elu's sharply indrawn breath as he traced the planes of his lover's chest and shoulders, felt the shudder which ran through the powerful muscles at his caress. Taking his time, Celeborn stroked the tips of his fingers slowly up the strong throat. As he sought out the sensitive place beneath the ear, his lover's whole body tensed delightfully beneath him. A fist tangled in his hair as his questing hand found the fine strength of Elu's jaw, outlining the delicate sweep up to the hard cheekbone where his fingers mapped the beauty of the king's face. Taking care not to jar his shoulder, he moved closer. His chest brushed Elu's, his love's wakening desire pushed against his hip. He smiled, the first tantalizing prickles of want sweeping over him. 

Cautiously, he pushed himself up on one arm, the other held protectively close to his chest, and half covered Elu's body with his own. Dipping his head, he tasted the skin his fingers had so recently discovered, traced the tip of his tongue along the fine edge of the jaw. He kissed down the long neck, breathed, and then lapped at the pulse which tripped erratically beneath his mouth. Absorbing the pounding with his tongue, he closed his eyes at the strong rhythm, felt it increase as he pressed his body closer to his lover's. Elu tasted of desire and power, of the trees and sky, and most of all, he tasted of love and need. Intoxicated by the taste, he let out a tiny whimper which vibrated against Elu's skin. 

'Celeborn...' the sound was low and tense, the only warning he had before strong hands cupped his buttocks, lifting him slightly so that his hips slid into the cradle of Elu's. His lover's hip bones were hard against his, their rigid flesh lying together, and every tiny movement was a star burst of sweet friction. Lifting his head, he tipped it back and and moaned as pleasure and play ignited into raw need. Elu's fingers dug into the nape of his neck, pulling him down for a kiss that took his breath away. 

Elu's tongue slid into Celeborn's mouth, and he kissed the young elf hard, crushing the firm lips beneath his, delighting in Celeborn's soft cry of desire and surprise. His fingers slid from his lover's nape, across the roughness of bandages, the swell of shoulders - skin made all the more vibrant by the contrast with the cold leather - to where the suppleness of Celeborn's spine made a gracefully carved curve down toward his buttocks. 

Gasping as Celeborn suckled lightly on his ear tip, he brought both his arms around the slender body and began to stroke his lover's back; slow, firm strokes from spine out across each rib and back again in a never-ending, sensuous slide. He felt the muscles in Celeborn's arm begin to quiver with the effort of holding himself up, but Elu did not stop, pressing gently, sliding his palms lower over each hollow and ridge, stroking, enflaming, until his hands reached his lover's hips. Turning his head, he took Celeborn's mouth once more as he slid both hands to cup the firm cushion of his young lover's buttocks, pulling him closer, at the same time lifting his hips and sliding their lengths together in an agonizingly slow movement. Celeborn jerked and gasped. His arm collapsed, and he fell full length against Elu, panting with desire. 

But this time Elu's head was clear enough to hear the edge of pain in the small sounds of need. Looking up he could see a sheen of tears in the sightless gaze. The prince was trying not to show it, but the impact as his arm had given way had sent a jolt of pain through him that made him lightheaded with more than pleasure. 

Cursing his forgetfulness, Elu moved swiftly, shifting out from beneath his love and gently lowering him to the furs. Celeborn lay silent, his eyes fast shut, fists clenching, as he alternately struggled with the pain and shivered from the loss of contact with his lord's body. 

'Celeborn... melethron..' Thingol hovered close, afraid to touch the youth in case he inflicted further hurt. Valar! How could he have been so thoughtless a second time? 

'I am well. Truly,' the grimace of agony slowly faded into a frustrated frown. Needing to soothe it, Elu leaned down to kiss the scowl away, his lips soft on each eyelid, moving slowly over the flushed cheeks, down to a mouth whose sculpted curve demanded to be traced with his tongue, invited invasion, possession. Guilt whisped away like smoke, as he pressed in, urging those lips to open to him, mind engulfed in the taste and feel of his lover. 

Eventually, they broke apart. Elu looked down into the face below him, feeling Celeborn's fingers moving in his hair, caressing his scalp in tiny circles. The younger elf was breathing hard, face glowing, mouth curved in a sensual smile, 'Better this, to relieve the pain, than that foul stuff you made me drink last night,' he murmured, voice husky with pleasure. 

Relieved, the king chuckled slightly, but did not speak, lowering his head to trace Celeborn's jaw with tiny, nibbling kisses. He moved tangled mithril hair, touched his lips to the curve of the young man's throat, and said, challengingly; 'I have not even begun, meleth...' 

He breathed on the tip of Celeborn's ear, feeling the shudder of reaction with satisfaction, before he spoke softly into it. 'There is something I would do; it will be easier on your shoulder. And,' his voice dropped; a dark caress against the prince's throat as he added, 'I want to taste you, feel you give yourself to me. Later, there will be more, but for now…' There were better things to do with his mouth than speaking. He found the sensitive point where Celeborn's neck met his shoulder and began to explore it with lips and tongue. Gasping in response, Celeborn buried his usable arm in Elu's hair, his hand tightening on steel strands, trying to tear Elu's head away from him long enough for him to think. 

'Anything you want, my lord,' he said, 'Anything I can give you. But do not delay. Who knows how long this time is that we have together. I want to fill it to the brim.' 

Elu looked down at his young lover for a long moment. He understood the eagerness, but he knew too that this time, and the times they would make in the future, would last forever in memory. They should be made well; to endure. He laughed suddenly, joy mixing with desire into a potent tincture that made him dizzy. _He begs for me, and I answer with philosophy? The folly of it!_ 'Then look to your sanity prince,' he said, gleefully, 'for soon the only sound you will be able to make will be to moan my name.' 

Determined that all pain or discomfort be overwhelmed by pleasure, Elu moved. He explored Celeborn's chest with his mouth, leaving damp trails of fiery sensation, hands sliding lower. Celeborn whimpered slightly in delight as Elu's large palm moved over the smooth curve of his flank and then rested under him, lifting him. Suddenly impatient, he twisted his hips and was rewarded by the king's startled groan. He could feel the flutter of eyelids like butterfly's wings against his neck, the shudder, the struggle for control, and the knowledge of such power thrilled through him like a perfect chord. 

Calming as much as he could, Elu lifted his head, saw the mischievous glint in the smiling, sightless eyes, 'If you continue so, Celeborn,' he warned, 'I will not be responsible for my response.' 

'Oh so, my Lord? And should I fear that?' 

Trying not to laugh, Elu shook his head. Clearly, lack of knowledge did not inhibit the young Prince. But he knew how to make that smile dissolve into mindless pleading, and it was time. In answer to the teasing statement, Elu slid down the young body. Celeborn only had time to feel the swift movement, the King's hands closing on his hips. A slither of steel-silver hair fell in a silken caress over his thighs, and Elu took Celeborn into his mouth in one smooth movement. 

Celeborn cried out sharply, his mind reeling in shock. His fist tightened in Elu's hair as he struggled to register what was happening. A throb of pain from his shoulder shot through him, but he did not care. He could not see what Elu was doing, but his mind supplied pictures. _O Valar!_ He had not imagined this! Wildly erotic images of Elu's head, bent to him, the thought of what Elu's lips and tongue and teeth were doing to him, the shattering sensations they were evoking had him twisting in stunned pleasure. 

'Ai, Elu! My king….I…' 

Elu let Celeborn slide from his lips, and his murmur was low and sensuous. 'Shhhhh…' he soothed, knowing that such was impossible, understanding the mindless pleasure arrowing through the younger elf's body as he slowly licked Celeborn's rigid hardness from base to head, drawing his tongue over the sensitive tip. He cupped the heavy velvet warmth beneath the hard length, tormented both, lightly caressing with gentle fingers. Celeborn's moan was a desperate cry, and he tried to urge Elu closer, hips moving in supplication. Elu ignored him, and continued to kiss and lick up and down Celeborn's heated length, drawing breathless sounds of want and need from the younger elf. 

Elu's mind spun at the sounds of astonished delight. He felt both tender and generous, knowing he could give such pleasure, was so desired, so trusted. He glanced up, Celeborn's head was thrown back, as he tried to push himself more fully into Elu's hot mouth. The fingers of his injured side were clenched deep in the furs and his hair spilled around his head and shoulders, bright as a galaxy of stars against the silver-grey of the furs. The sight of his prince, gasping and moaning with the sensation bursting through him , twisting in wanton pleasure, body straining, made Elu growl in response. He swept his tongue once more over the smooth tip of Celeborn's desire, tasted warmth and salt sweetness. Hearing Celeborn's strangled moan, he plunged down, taking his lover once more fully into his mouth. 

Celeborn was beyond all thought, nothing existed beyond the overwhelming sensation which robbed him of breath and control. As Elu's mouth came down on him over and over, he began to sob quietly, his hips moving with a compulsion he could not fight, as he pushed deeper and deeper into Elu's loving mouth and hands. 

He could not breathe, could not think and he knew he could not last much longer. His hand tightened in Elu's hair, demanding, pleading. He cried out, reaching, desperately reaching, needing. The hand clenched in the furs moved, groped, searching for Elu's fingers. Sensing Celeborn's wish, the king twined his fingers tight with the younger elf's, a brief image of the last time their fingers had been entwined, in darkness and despair of the storm, flashing through his mind. 

But it was quickly banished as his lips and tongue brought Celeborn ever closer to the edge of ecstasy. Celeborn moaned, over and over, head moving restlessly, hips moving faster and harder ,'Please,' he gasped, 'Please…melethron…' 

A few more moments, a final thrust, Elu's mouth a powerful suction and Celeborn's hand spasmed, clutching Elu's fingers so hard they threatened to break. Celeborn's mouth opened in a soundless scream, as wave after wave of agonizing pleasure crashed through his body, leaving nothing but endless pulsing, dazzling ecstasy. 

As Celeborn reached his peak, Elu held the younger elf's hips in his hands, the taste and feel of his lover in his mouth a greater, more intense reward than he had ever thought. His mind reached for Celeborn's, was met by reflected sensation so intense he almost lost control, almost spilled himself there and then in response. Ere this, he had kept their shared sensation at bay, needing to be in control of his body, but now the riot of Celeborn's pleasure swept over him like an ocean wave, pulling him down into delirium. On the edge of release he struggled for control, lifted his head, kissed the quivering belly, trying to ignore his own craving. Moving up to lie beside his lover, feeling the heaving breaths as the young man struggled to pull air into his lungs, he moved to gather him into his arms, but Celeborn had a different thought. Swiftly he twisted, closed the fingers of his good hand firmly about the King, his touch strong and knowing. Taken by surprise, Elu gasped, moaned in ecstasy and overwhelming, ruthless need. Thrusting hard into Celeborn's hand, panting and gasping, he was impaled by joy; immediately on the verge of a stunning climax . A breath, a convulsive movement; and once more the warm evidence of his passion spilled over his lover's fingers as he groaned in bliss and shocked satisfaction. 

They lay, each trying to still mind and body to a point where movement was possible. Moving at the same time, they reached for each other, each drawing the other into a warm embrace, bodies resting together, breath mingling as they shivered with tiny, delighted aftershocks of ecstasy. Gradually, their heartbeats slowed and steadied, and they lay, content, in each others arms. 

Without realizing he did so, Elu's fingers lightly traced Celeborn's bound shoulder, assuring himself that the prince had not injured himself in his impassioned response. His sigh of relief made Celeborn smile against the warm skin of his shoulder, and Elu could hear the grin in his voice as he said quietly, 'And whose would have been the fault, my lord, if I had torn my wound open under such provocation?' 

Elu laughed, moving to place a gentle kiss on Celeborn's lips, 'I think that we both would have had to take equal blame.' 

Celeborn's answering laugh was soft, 'A debate we can save for the future, my lord,' he said, drawing Elu closer to him, so that the steel-silver head rested on his uninjured shoulder 


	9. Chapter Nine

CHAPTER 9 

This chapter is for Maeglin who was endlessly patient with my questions when writing this! To you, Lord Maeglin, you know what you are to me. Celeb 

ooooooo00OOO00ooooooo

In ages to come, the time spent together in their secluded idyll would remain a treasured memory in the minds of both Elves; a time more simple than later days of rule and struggle; a joy more innocent - intense, yet gentle. For the first time, they were alone. Time passed for them as it has always done for the elves: far too swiftly - a constant awareness of an approaching end to their solitary joy - yet slowly also, as if it held its breath, determined to wring as much happiness from each moment as mind and body could endure. 

They talked - not only of love but of every wonder each had seen; of Aman and Cuivienen, of the thoughts of the great kings, and the smallest tree. They fished in the quiet inlet, and fletched arrows. They sang, weaving dreams into the music, so that even Celeborn, blind as he remained, could see the bright shapes of Aman, or his own face, through Elu's eyes. If he could not see the love and need in Elu's gaze, he saw it there, in the image of himself, standing against the stars, silver voice bright as his hair, singing a lyrical thanksgiving to the Vala who had allowed them this time. 

When talk was done and songs fell silent, there were the nights. Never had Elu known such bliss. He had never imagined that a lover could be so addictive, could combine such inexperience - so that everything was a thrilling discovery for him - with so uninhibited a response. Celeborn's devotion was so wholehearted, such a heady mix of power and surrender, that Elu felt he was gifted with something precious; to be treasured forever in body and soul. 

But still the young prince could not see, and for all his assertions that he was well, Elu caught his slight grimace whenever the shoulder was taxed. Elu would not risk its healing, and for that reason he had resisted as yet - with the full stubborness of his spirit - the final fulfillment of his desire. The decision had seemed noble when he made it, but had proved to be a plague; for now - whatever else they did - he burned for the possession of his lover; to hold the youth so close they were one, to lie sheathed in the warmth and dizzying ecstasy he knew the other's body would bring. 

Celeborn, far from appreciating the gesture of restraint and tenderness, resented it profoundly. He wanted the unknown to become the known as soon as possible. To actually feel the trembling pleasure of Elu's body buried deeply in his and to return that delight... the thought left his mouth dry and his hands shaking. Several times, he had tried to undermine Elu's control and initiate it, but Elu, body shuddering with the effort not to give in, had so far resisted, choosing always instead some other way. 

'Why will you not take me, melethron?' he murmured at last, burying his face in the heavy, clean warmth of Elu's hair, hoping the question had sounded reasonable, not like a boy's whine of disappointment. 

Lying beside him, Elu raised his head, and the movement made his hair slide over Celeborn's chest in the softest of caresses. The young elf shivered, as the cool touch of the hair was joined by the drift of a hand across his stomach. Blind, it was not possible to tell what Elu would do next, so when he lowered his head to take a nipple into his mouth, slowly swirling his tongue over the sensitive flesh, Celeborn drew in a sharp breath, surprised, delighted. A sound half protest, half pleading escaped him. He moaned, trying to get closer, but Elu - frustratingly elusive - moved away. 

'There is nothing I wish for more. But not at the cost of further injury. Patience! And when the time comes...' Elu's words trailed off and he claimed the prince's mouth in a hard kiss, saying all else with the fierce possessiveness of his touch. 

The hand at Celeborn's waist drifted lower, fingers barely grazing heated skin, until they curled lightly around his maleness, beginning a gentle, inexorable rhythm, entirely at odds with the hotly demanding hardness of his body. The sweet swell of pleasure made Celeborn feel... cherished. Elu touched him as though he had discovered in him a gift so infinitely precious, and sought with every movement to bind them closer. Wanting nothing less, he opened his eyes wide, seeing only darkness, and surrendered to the knowledgeable hands of his beloved king. 'Ahh, Elu, you undo me. Please… I…' 

Elu's smile was predatory as he traced the outline of Celeborn's mouth with the tip of his tongue, drawing another gasp from the parted lips below his. 'Please what, mmm…? Please this?' He shifted so that his hips rested in the cradle of Celeborn's, desire pressed to hard, heated desire. Slowly, he pressed forward, sliding them together, biting back a groan, trying not to let the younger Elf hear how much it cost him not to join them now, with no more delay. 

Celeborn bit his lip with the effort not to cry out at the tingling pleasure which shot up his spine at the contact. Until he had what he wanted, he was _not_ going to give Elu such easy satisfaction. Unfocused green eyes met silver grey as he lifted his hips, feeling the resulting surge of sensation sweep in a wave of tension and trembling through his lover's body. 'You know what I desire,' he murmured huskily, not seeing as Elu's eyes darkened with a dangerous longing. 'Soon, my beloved lord, I cannot wait much longer, I must have you soon.' 

Elu moaned at the sweet friction, and the wanton words. His eyelids suddenly seemed too heavy and he let them slide closed, feeling Celeborn softly nuzzle his throat while still maintaining the gently tormenting rhythm. Bringing his hands up, he buried his clenched fists in the hair which spilled like starlight over the pillows, 'You are playing a game you know not how to win, prince,' he managed to say through clenched teeth. 

Celeborn's smile was unrepentant, 'Am I so?' He kissed Elu's closed eyes, scattering sparks in the king's mind, before he whispered, 'Then it is up to you to teach me, is it not?' 

Elu forced himself to breathe slowly, opening his eyes to look down into the young man's unseeing gaze, astonished anew by his beauty. 'It is a task I would allow no other,' he whispered fervently, leaning to meet Celeborn's kiss, joining their mouths as fully as he longed to join their bodies 

----

On the third day, Elu woke to silence and stillness. He stretched luxuriously, mind and senses reaching to touch the sleeping warmth of Celeborn. But the younger elf was not beside him. Opening his eyes, he searched the cave, alarm blossoming through him. Celeborn still could not see, and though he had grown adept over the last days at sensing his surroundings, his movements were hampered and he was more vulnerable than usual. Elu's gaze swept the opening of the cave, searching, then abruptly, the tension drained out of him. 

Standing at the edge of the surging river, outlined against the shadowed sky, Celeborn was surrounded by a shining net of stars, limned by their shimmering light. He was half turned away from Elu, who pushed himself up silently, wishing to observe his beautiful young lover without making him feel self-conscious. 

Celeborn held his bow lightly in his left hand. Elu's heart constricted as he saw the youth's will to test his strength, his recovery, by drawing the weapon, to measure recovered ability, to know his own body once more _He knows his limits,_ Elu told himself firmly, as he studied Celeborn, his gaze appreciative, admiring the courage before him, yet still afraid. He forced himself to remain still, suddenly aware of how his heart had come to cherish, how far beyond mere desire they had come together. 

Unaware of Elu's gaze, Celeborn stood poised on the riverbank, head tilted slightly, listening to the rushing water and the night sounds. Starlight and shadows made a sculpted perfection of his body; stripped to the waist, one of his hands holding his bow and the other relaxed at his side. 

His stance was easy, bare feet slightly apart, balanced and relaxed. The bottoms of his grey-green breeches were slightly damp where the river lapped at his ankles, and to Elu, it seemed as though the river murmured to itself with delight at the touch of the boy's smooth skin. Who would not? Elu's gaze up Celeborn's long legs, relishing the way the soft material clung to the strong muscles, braced slightly against the gentle current. The elegant curve of flanks and buttocks made Elu's breath quicken. He felt his body stir and his hands clenched in the soft furs. Up further, his gaze wandered, to the smoothly hollowed line of Celeborn's spine, curving up to slim, powerful shoulders, almost hidden beneath the silken length of his hair. 

A slow breath escaped Elu, a barely audible sound of wonder at the sheer perfection before him. It was as if some creature of legend, too beautiful to be real, stood before him; a being of warm cream skin and smoothly muscled flesh, standing tall, outlined by the silver fire of the starlit night, whose light was caught like tiny gems in the hair which tumbled down the strong back. 

As he was held motionless by the shining fairness before him, the wonder deepened. Elu caught a streak of light in the sky as the first meteor left its timeless suspension in the heavens and raced toward the earth, trailing pale fire in its wake. Elu gasped, breath taken by the exquisite sight as the dying star raced past his startled gaze in a burst of shimmering glory. But even that could not match the joy he felt when, as the star left its place in the sky and shot over the treetops, Celeborn reacted, turning his head so that his hair moved in a sensual slide over one naked shoulder, tracking the progress of the comet as it hurtled toward the earth. Elu's own soft cry of happiness was lost in Celeborn's exclamation of delight at the sight before him. 

_He can see!_ Elu moved, intending to go to his lover, tears of relief and joy in his own eyes. But then he caught himself, unwilling to disturb the young warrior's rapt attention on the glittering canopy above him. He subsided, once more forcing himself to stillness. 

The meteor storm streaked the night with fiery trails, filing both elves with awe. The sky rained with silver and bright gold, pure, dazzling radiance that pierced the heart with its beauty. Increasing in intensity, the storm filled the night with dancing, shining tracks of light and suddenly, Elu heard Celeborn laugh, saw him raise his arms to the night sky, fingers spread wide, reaching for the perfection he could see once more. Whether he reached out in supplication, or in celebration of the gift of the jewel-bright rain of glory above them, Elu did not know, but his chest tightened with love and desire as the richness of his love's softly delighted laughter washed over him. 

As if in tribute to the fiery display, Celeborn moved. Never once taking his eyes from the display of celestial beauty, he bent and selected an arrow from the quiver which lay on the ground beside him. Straightening, he fitted the slim shaft to his bowstring. Elu saw him draw a slow breath and turn slightly. He drew the bow, aiming the arrow so that it would follow the line of the river as it flowed away from them in a foaming white flood. 

Desire slammed into Elu so forcefully it robbed him of breath as he saw the muscles of Celeborn's shoulders flex and move beneath skin which glowed under the heavenly storm above. Still, he forced himself to simply watch, as Celeborn's ribs lifted with each slow careful breath, his stance altered slightly, braced against the draw of the bow; the firmness of buttock and thigh more pronounced as the muscles held the tall frame taut and steady. For a moment which could have been a lifetime, Celeborn stood, outlined against the sky, slender body a powerful, graceful silhouette against the dark velvet and silver fire of the sky. Elu could not stop the slight sound that escaped his lips, as with an almost languid movement, Celeborn relaxed his fingers, watching the arrow arc up in effortless flight over the river, seeming to hang in midair before plummeting down into the seethe of dark liquid. 

Sighing, the young man stood motionless for long moments. Then he shifted experimentally. He bent his head close to his raised shoulder and slowly rolled it. Elu waited for the hiss of discomfort, the wince as the movement was cut short by pain. 

But it did not come. Continuing to test his range of movement, Celeborn flexed the shoulder up and down, forward and back, opening and closing his fingers. Elu realised he was holding his breath, let it out again only when he heard Celeborn's quietly delighted laugh. He closed his eyes against the almost overwhelming rush of desire which had his body hardening painfully. So he did not see Celeborn turn to face him, did not hear through the blood rushing in his ears, the soft footsteps which halted next to their bed. Suddenly, he felt warm lips settle onto his. He started, jolted out of his erotic thoughts to find their object watching him with a mischievous smile. 

Celeborn's intense gaze, full of dancing promise, captured and held Elu's. The smile widened as Celeborn saw the rapid rise and fall of Elu's chest, the way the strong hands held the furs of the bed in a stranglehold. He leaned close once more and unhurriedly took Elu's lips with his own. The kiss was slow and leisurely, a thing of taste and sensation, of sliding warmth and tingling delight. Elu sighed and speared his hands through the pale silk that spilled over his throat and chest pulling the lithe body closer. His tongue slid slowly along the length of Celeborn's and he felt the hand on his shoulder tighten convulsively. Shifting, he sought to deepen the kiss, surprised when Celeborn pulled back. He could not help the growl of disappointment as he opened his eyes to a teasing smile, 'Are you hungry, meleth?' came the soft question, laced with laughter. 

Elu stared up at his lover, mind clouded with desire, struggling to comprehend what Celeborn was asking. His confused gaze followed the other's nod to where a small pot hung over the fire, steam curling from its depths. Next to it, two fish had been wrapped in leaves and herbs and nestled into the embers at the edge of the fire. Two cups filled with crystal clear spring water sat ready. He returned an incredulous look to Celeborn's face, and then he pushed at the strong shoulder above him. 'The impudence of youth,' he muttered, 'Did you not consider it ill-mannered, my lord prince, to cause such a need in your king and then refuse to assuage it.?' 

Celeborn moved back, allowing Elu the room to move, admiring as he did so the way the furs slid down the powerful shoulders and torso. In a voice roughened with his own need, he said,' I have not refused, my lord, merely I thought to see to one need before I, ah…attended to the other.' 

Elu pulled him into a laughing kiss, 'You _are_ impudent,' he complained. 

Celeborn did not reply. This close to his half-naked lover, he did not trust himself to. He was beginning to forget, already, quite what the point of food was, when he could be satisfying a far stronger hunger. But they had caught the fish. Having killed them, they owed it to their spirits not to let them go to waste, but to eat. He moved away, covertly admiring Elu's body as the other elf flung back the coverlet of their bed. 

How feral he was, and magnificent, a study in lethal skill and power; as languid in rest and irresistible in movement as a great lion, golden in the firelight and with blazing eyes. 

Aware he was being watched, Elu stretched languorously, his naked body twisting slowly on the furs at his back. Firelight danced over the smoothness of his skin; slid over muscle as he arched his back, stretching thoroughly, splaying his fingertips wide in the deep furs. He laughed softly, almost purring as he sat, running his hands over his own stomach. He lifted his gaze to meet Celeborn's, holding him prisoner as long fingers slid over the angled curve of his hips and then lower, toward the jutting need between his thighs. 'See what you have caused, with your torments, impudent one?' 

The wicked smile and shameless display, the dark velvet warmth of that voice... Blood rushed to his skin he could feel himself light up; proof if any were needed that Elu did not even need to touch him to make him painfully in need. He moaned, deep in his throat…and winced as the flames licked at his fingers where he held the fish close to the flames. 

He dropped them, an exclamation of pain briefly dampening his ardour. Muttering under his breath he grabbed the twig he had placed close at hand and attempted to poke their dinner from the ashes. Another laugh made him look up. Elu sauntered across the cave, swept Celeborn's hair from his neck, and dropped a brief kiss on the sensitive skin at his nape, biting the younger elf gently, 'Retribution is mine,' was his amused answer to Celeborn's glare as he seated himself by the crackling flames. 

'Perhaps you have spent too long by the heat, you seem a little, ah, overwarm,' Elu commented lazily. Looking up at him, Celeborn choked slightly. Elu had reclined on one elbow, and now lay stretched out at his ease on the fur next to the small blaze, a study in elegance and temptation. Fiery gold light flickered over the planes and angles of his chest and abdomen, playing over the taut waist and long legs. The heavy steel-silver mass of Elu's hair spilled over one shoulder and his eyes were half-lidded. 

Dangerous desire flared suddenly in those eyes, the heat reaching Celeborn across the fire, their small blaze an insignificance next to the inferno that was Elu's need of him. _Please,_ he thought, weak and dizzy with an answering ache, _Please, let it be soon. I cannot wait much longer._

The king did not move, did not change expression, but Celeborn felt drawn, caught helplessly in a web of tangled desire and shivering heat... 

Sudden pain drew a startled exclamation as he dropped the fish again. Distracted, he put his burned fingers in his mouth. The words he muttered under his breath would have made even Amdir, who knew more colourful language than any other elf Celeborn knew, blush. 

A smothered sound from across the fire made him look up, startled. Elu was curled on the furs, helpless with laughter, hands wrapped around his mid-section, barely able to breathe through his mirth. Celeborn tried to hold onto his dignity, taking his fingers from his mouth and shaking them to cool them as he frowned. The fish, forgotten, quietly began to singe. 

'Well,' Celeborn said, affronted, 'It is good to know that my pain is a source of amusement, my Lord.' 

For a few moments, Elu was unable to reply; looking up through tearing eyes, trying to curb his laughter and failing utterly. 'Ai, meleth, you look so offended....defied by two dead fish! ' He struggled to sit up, clamping his lips together on another wave of laughter. Celeborn's eyes narrowed and he reached for the stick he had used the last time, still muttering to himself. 

A strong hand closed over his wrist, stilling the movement. Elu had moved so swiftly he had not registered it, and now knelt by his side, so close he could feel the warmth of his body in new temptation. 

'Here. Let me see.' With gentle insistence, Elu turned the wrist he was holding, leaning to inspect the damage. Held fast by desire, Celeborn watched as Elu blew gently on the tips of his fingers. The sensation of the cool air flowing over the sensitive skin made him catch the breath he had been holding in a gasp of surprise and pleasure, the pain eased, to be replaced with creeping heat, pooling in his stomach, moving in a slow tide through his body. 'Mmm,' Elu murmured, 'That looks painful.. Let me see if I can help …' 

Elu took the tips of the burned fingers into his mouth and Celeborn could not help it, he jerked violently, a sharp cry torn from him at the feel of Elu's warm, moist mouth suckling his fingers, his tongue swirling over the tips and slowly licking down to the palm. He twisted, his body instantly aflame, trying to pull his hand away. 

But there was no escape, no respite from the sweetly gentle suction, the laving of Elu's tongue from palm to the tip of each finger and back down, from the softly repeated caress which made Celeborn writhe where he sat. 'Elu,' he managed to gasp out, staring through eyes which were clouding with desire, 'Please, my king, either stop this or allow us both what we wish, I cannot stand this any longer.' 

But his lover showed no signs of having heard him. The caresses had now moved to his wrist. Elu tantalized the sensitive skin with tiny nips and kisses and long sliding, sensuous licks which slid from wrist to elbow. Celeborn tried to retain some vestige of control as Elu's mouth left glistening trails of moisture on his skin, but he could not stop trembling, tiny gasps escaping him. 

It was these quiet, breathless sounds of want and pleading which at last undid Elu's control. He growled, a low sound of desire held too long in check. Moving swiftly, he took Celeborn hard around the shoulders and pulled him across his lap. For a moment, Celeborn caught the glitter of a desire which was utterly out of control in his king's eyes, then Elu's mouth came down on his. Something snapped in him then, and he silently rejoiced, knowing that this time, Elu would not hold back. This time, he would claim Celeborn as his, fully and absolutely, scalding them both with the heat of their desire. Shivering with desperate pleasure, he pressed himself closer to the powerful body against which he was imprisoned, feeling muscles tense as Elu lay back, pulling him down to the furs. 

Elu had no time for gentleness now. Now, he meant to take, to possess utterly, to brand Celeborn's body as _his_, consuming them both in mindless, spiralling ecstasy. He grasped a fistful of water-pale hair, dragging Celeborn's head back, exposing the young Elf's throat to his plundering mouth. Celeborn cried out, as he was arched back over Elu's supporting arm, his fingers digging hard into the padded silk of Elu's shoulders. Elu bent his head to Celeborn's throat, to the faint bruise he had caused days previously. He licked the faint mark, once, twice, feeling Celeborn's convulsive shudder, hearing his whimper, before he once more took the delicate flesh into his mouth, renewing the mark of his possession on Celeborn's throat. 

Celeborn twisted, dizzied by sensation, the roaring in his ears almost drowning out the low sounds Elu made as he licked and sucked and kissed the skin he had exposed. Pleasure exploded in his body, spreading out in dizzying, tingling waves, moving in an inexorable tide through chest and hips, flowing through his legs and up his spine, feeding a terrible desire he thought must be assuaged before it consumed him. Using all of his strength, he moved in Elu's arms, twisting in the king's grip until Elu was forced to loosen his hold with a growl of frustration. But Celeborn only straddled his lover's hips, thrusting his body hard into Elu's, pulling him closer until he half-sat, his entire body begging for Elu's touch. 

Elu obliged. He felt one of Celeborn's hands bury themselves to the elbow in the heavy silk of his hair as the young elf moaned loudly, moving his hips in a deliberately slow rhythm against Elu's. Celeborn's other hand slid down his back, fingers touching and lightly pressing his spine, drawing circles on skin which now glistened from the heat of the fire and the burning need within. When Celeborn's hand hesitated at his waist, lingering, not quite touching, he pushed up violently, groaning, begging with his impassioned reaction for more, entreating further intimacy, even closer contact. The movement pushed their mutual desires into such a sweet friction it was hard not to scream in delight. 

Slipping his long fingers underneath the sleek firmness of his lover's hip and thigh, Celeborn filled his hand with the tightly muscled curve of Elu's buttocks. As Elu's mouth slid down his chest, with swift bites and tantalising licks, he could feel the ragged breaths he drew, and knew that his king struggled to hold onto his control, struggled not to give in to the need to take Celeborn hard and fast, to send them both into the dark heart of the fire which beckoned them. _Let it go,_ he thought, almost angry, _Please! I need..._

Elu found the nub of flesh he was seeking, suckling it, feeling Celeborn's other hand join the first, cupping him, pulling him closer, inarticulate sounds filling the air around them. He bit and sucked his way across Celeborn's chest, his mind screaming at him to remember that this act was unfamiliar to the younger elf, could even harm him if he did not take care. He would not forgive himself if that happened again, if he gave in to the raging impulses overtaking him and injured the boy. No, this was his first time, it should be all joy, and any discomfort minimised and fleeting. 

Trembling with the effort, he forced himself to slow down. He rested his forehead against Celeborn's shoulder, breathing hard, eyes tightly closed, hands clamped on the slim hips, forcibly stilling his tantalising movements, holding him locked against his body. 

Held hard against Elu's chest, Celeborn shivered, at the loss of the hot mouth on his skin. He tried to look into Elu's face, 'M.. melethron?'. Elu did not answer, shuddering with tiny ripples of exquisite pleasure that were almost agony. He tried to regain some control, truly afraid of what might happen if he did not. He felt the fine trembling which shook Celeborn's body, felt the force of his grip, fingers clenching and unclenching reflexively, pulling their hips together, as if they could not help but continue their caresses of the hard flesh they held, and breathed out on a ragged sigh. 

'Elu?' This time, Elu could not ignore the anxiety in Celeborn's voice. Slowly, he lifted his head to look into need-filled green eyes. 'Did I do aught wrong?' came the quiet question, 'What is it?' 

Elu smiled, jaw tight as he forced his muscles to relax, 'I do not wish to hurt you and I fear I will, if we do not temper our desires a little.' 

Strange to see a smile so sweet on a face so fierce; it tugged at Celeborn's heart and sent it winging. 'Hurt me?' he whispered, leaning in to kiss, teeth tugging gently at Elu's lower lip, with the naivete of innocence, he murmured, ,'You would not hurt me, you could not.' He lifted his mouth from Elu's and rested their foreheads together, closing his eyes. After long moments, where breath and heartbeats mingled, Celeborn rubbed his cheek softly against his lover's, 'You could not hurt me' he repeated softly, 'I love you. And I will gladly give you anything. I am...not a delicate flower, which must not be bruised.' He paused, pulling back and looking into Elu's deep grey gaze, 'Love me,' he said softly, 'Teach me. Take what is yours. What is ours.' 

Elu held Celeborn's gaze, saw the flush on the lightly tanned skin, felt the sweetness of his breath as it fell across his own lips. Though he knew the hurt could be very real, he did not correct the loving words. Instead, he nodded slowly, hypnotized by the silver-lit beauty he held in his trembling hands. Reaching forward to capture Celeborn's lips with his, breathing into his lover's mouth, he whispered, 'No star in the heavens could rival you now. Such light in you!' 

As he spoke, Elu shifted, turning so that, without breaking the kiss, he could lower Celeborn to the furs of their bed, following him down so that his body blanketed the younger elf's. Once more, he held Celeborn's head still. And the kiss became a delicate, questing thing, ephemeral and heart-breaking in its reverence. Needing more, Celeborn cried out softly, but his attempt to pull Elu closer was met with a gentle but firm hand, loosening his grip, hushing him, gentling his gasping breaths. 

With infinite care, Elu seduced Celeborn's body and mind utterly. His caresses were unhurried now, licking, nipping and kissing from shoulder to knee, across tensing shoulders, coaxing trembling muscles to release, until Celeborn relaxed beneath him, shivering with anticipation. Celeborn's own hands stroked the base of Elu's spine and the strong curve at its base, until the king purred with pleasure of it, pushing his hips down, braced on his hands so that the weight of his desire pressed with exquisitely slow firmness into Celeborn's. 

Celeborn's body was vibrating beneath his and at the feel of his powerful need, Elu moaned. No longer able to withstand the gasping cries, or deny his own desire, he shivered. Sitting back, his hands went to the loosely tied laces of Celeborn's leggings. He tugged the laces free, hand never still, touching and caressing, watching as Celeborn bit his lip, tears of sheer need starting in his eyes. Carefully, he slipped the soft fabric off the slim hips, lowering his head and following the movement of the material. He caressed the rigid length within with his cheek, letting his hair enclose it in a slide of silken fire. Then, sliding Celeborn's leggings completely off, Elu moved back up his body, letting him feel his own aching desire before settling across the heavy muscles of his upper thighs. He leaned forward to once more to take Celeborn's mouth, groaning a little as Celeborn thrust his tongue past his lips into his mouth, hands once more tangling in his king's hair. Moving teasingly slowly, Elu deliberately trailed his fingertips over his collarbone and the mark on the smooth throat before moving to kiss across ribs that heaved with Celeborn's struggle to breathe. His eyes were on Celeborn's, watching every change of expression, seeing his eyes darken to the green of the deepest forest pool, savouring every gasp and jump and involuntary moan. He shifted back, reaching lower still, tracing the ridge of the sculpted hip bones, tasting with his fingertips the heated skin, teasing the shivering flesh of abdomen and upper thigh before finally, he gave into Celeborn's breathless pleading, taking Celeborn's penis into firm hands. Celeborn jerked and sobbed his need, Elu responded by slowly running his fist up it, caressing the tip with his thumb and spreading the warm liquid he found there over the silken flesh. He looked up to see Celeborn's eyes were tightly closed. Tears leaked from the corners and without ceasing his gentle rhythm, Elu leaned down to lick them away, softly kissing the corner of Celeborn's mouth. 

He sat back as Celeborn twisted and cried out, once more resting lightly on the long thighs. His hand left its place between Celeborn's legs to move to the ties of his own leggings. At the loss of the tormenting, beloved touch, Celeborn's eyes opened in protest, then they darkened still further and a sensuous smile curved his lips. 'Let me,' he murmured huskily, batting Elu's hands away. 

Elu watched, utterly captivated, as Celeborn's fingers deftly unlaced his leggings, making each movement a shattering caress. When the last lace was free, Celeborn slipped his hand beneath to tug the soft material downwards Elu lifted himself and felt the soft material slide down his legs. Before he could move, Celeborn reached out to touch him, holding and stroking him as he had just done to Celeborn. Elu closed eyes and let his head fall back, his hips thrusting slowly into Celeborn's hands, jaw clenched, the muscles in his throat taut. The fingers of Celeborn's other hand touched and caressed thighs, stomach, the warm sacs which lifted and tightened beneath Elu's hardened length. Elu felt the pleasure begin to build, and he increased the speed of his thrusts, exulting in the beloved touch, moans beginning to spill from his lips. Gasping, he allowed himself to revel in the exquisite torture for a few moments before pulling back, to look down into Celeborn's clouded gaze. 

Swiftly, he rose, retrieving what he needed from his weapons pack. Lying down by Celeborn's side he kissed him, resting his mouth lightly on the young Elf's as he whispered, 'Do you trust me, my beloved prince?' 

Celeborn gave him another heart-stopping smile, 'Always, my king.' Then he surprised Elu by holding out his hand. Wordlessly, Elu handed him the small container and watched, his tongue sliding out to wet suddenly dry lips as Celeborn scooped a little of the semi-solid oil used for cleaning weapons onto his palms and set the small pot aside. Celeborn smiled up at Elu's slightly surprised expression, gaze dropping to his glistening fingers before reaching up to kiss the firm lips lightly, 'I am not entirely ignorant, pen iaur,' he murmured. 

_ Ancient one_ Only Celeborn would dare such a name. Elu shook his head, laughing , 'No, though I will not ask where you…' He cried out sharply as Celeborn's warmly-slick fingers once more found his length, moving in a slow sensuous slide, covering Elu's desire with the skin-warmed oil. Elu panted, resisting the temptation to thrust into the inviting grip, instead, leaning over to dip his own fingers into the pot. Catching some of the oil on his fingers, feeling it melt to slick his fingers, he looked down into Celeborn's face, 'If this hurts you, we stop, I would not cause you pain.' 

Celeborn, trust and love in his green eyes, reached out slowly and wordlessly guided Elu's hand to his hip, releasing it as the older elf continued the movement, sliding his hand under his young lover, and between the firm muscles under his hand. Celeborn lifted his hips, eyes locked with Elu's, lips parted, as he panted a little. He tensed slightly as Elu's finger slid across his tight entrance and lingered, and Elu watched him in concern. But his fears were allayed as Celeborn shifted slightly so that Elu's fingers pressed against him. But still Elu held back, alternating sweeps across that secret place, lingering a little longer each time, with slow strokes to Celeborn's length, so that he gasped and writhed, bringing his knees up and pushing his heels into the furs, anything to have more of that maddening, slow slide. 

When Celeborn no longer tensed at his lingering fingers, instead making breathless sounds of want, begging to be touched with murmurs and little cries, Elu gently allowed his finger to push a little way into the younger Elf's body. Celeborn gasped at the unfamiliar sensation, but he did not pull away, shuddering with the force of his desire. 'Kiss me' he demanded softly again. As Elu did so, Celeborn moved again, pushing himself further down onto Elu's finger, 'More, he gasped out, frowning a little at the discomfort, 'Please...' Body quivering with tension, Elu shook his head, 'Wait, pen vain, ssshhh..' Patiently, leashing his own desire, Elu waited, allowing Celeborn time to adjust to the intrusion, then, when the frown had faded and Celeborn relaxed a little, he bent the finger to brush over the place inside the young elf that would drive him wild, that exquisitely sensitive place which as yet he was fairly certain Celeborn had no idea existed. 

Celeborn's cry was sharp, bouncing off the walls of the cave and his mouth opened wide in shock, as his body jerked violently at the overwhelming sensation, 'Ai! What did you...? Ai, Elu!' His hands grabbed for something, anything to hold, to anchor him to Arda, at last burying themselves deep in the furs, bunching the softness in his hands. Elu flexed the finger, brushing the spot twice more, each time drawing keening cries from Celeborn as the young elf's body convulsed with pleasure. Elu's kisses did not cease, he licked and tasted the skin that now shone with a light sheen of sweat, until Celeborn begged him to go on. Carefully, lovingly, he withdrew his finger, to replace it with two. Celeborn gasped and writhed, and Elu said quickly, 'Celeborn are you..?' 

'Ai, yes!' came back the gritted reply, 'Do not stop, I beg you!' 

Elu's lips curve upward in a loving smile, and he murmured, 'Be still, we have time….I love you.' Celeborn whimpered. He looked so wanton, silver hair spread over their bed, his belly, thighs and groin slick with oil, every muscle tensed, small groans and cries escaping his parted lips, that Elu knew, despite his words, that it must be soon. Heart bursting within him, still he waited, until he was certain the discomfort had subsided somewhat before he gently added a third finger, waiting once more as Celeborn gasped, first with slight pain, then with desperation. After he was satisfied discomfort was giving way to desire, he gently withdrew his fingers, smiling at Celeborn's moan of protest. Thumbs stroking Celeborn's inner thighs, parting him still futher, Elu positioned himself at the entrance to that sweet heat and in a voice roughened by need and love, he murmured, 'Look at me, Celeborn.' Clouded eyes opened slowly as Celeborn struggled to raise suddenly heavy lashes. 

For a moment, they were still, poised on the brink of that which each had wished for for what seemed an eternity. Permission was sought and granted, pledges of love exchanged in the silence which stretched out endlessly, filled with starlight and heat and dizzying, spiralling need. They did not speak, communicating with touches and kisses all that needed to be said. And in that loving silence, when the world stilled about them, green eyes held grey, unwavering, Elu moved at last, lifting Celeborn and pushing forward as Celeborn raised his hips, accepting and trusting. A soft cry and once more, the frown passed across Celeborn's face at the unfamiliar discomfort, his hand closing hard on Elu's hard shoulder. Elu stilled, ignoring the slight stinging pain the clutching fingers caused, watching the fine-featured face as Celeborn's eyes fluttered closed, his expression reflecting the swiftly changing sensations washing over him as his body slowly adjusted to the feel of Elu within him. 

Elu nuzzled the soft hair at Celeborn's temple, murmuring soothingly, kissing Celebron's chest and neck, giving him time to adjust and then, 'Melethron?' A shudder ran through Celeborn's body and Elu looked up to once more find the green gaze fixed on his and a slight smile on the firm lips. Celeborn lifted a hand to bury it deep in Elu's hair. 'We are one, my king,' he whispered. 

Elu smiled, lowering his head to take Celeborn's mouth in a searing kiss, 'At last…' he murmured, slowly flexing his hips and sliding still deeper. Celeborn cried out, his other hand clutching his King's body closer, trying to pull Elu still closer to him, ever deeper. He shuddered hard, and this time, when his gaze went to his lover's, they held a wild glitter which sent a flame lashing through Elu's body. 'Love me,' Celeborn demanded through clenched teeth, 'I would feel all that you have to give,. Do not deny me.' 

Elu's passion once more flared out of control at Celeborn's words. Distantly, he heard the song Celeborn had sung the night before, a song of love and of desire; it reached out to him, pulling him in, wrapping his senses in the sheer delight that was Celeborn. And he realised it was not simply memory; a soft song filled his ears, sung silently into the light and heat of passion, sung by both their fëar, each to the other. Elu pulled back, pushed forward again, as the melody lifted and swirled about them. Again he thrust, listening, , feeling each slide into the lithe form offered to him with such sweetness of soul as an explosion of light and heat and shimmering music in his mind and body. He reached for the song, entwining it with the pleasure which curled through him, giving it back to Celeborn as the younger Elf shared in the exhilarating music of their loving. 

Sprawled beneath Elu, hands buried in the King's hair, clutching him close, Celeborn felt the music, caught the heat of Elu's fëa within it, and surged upwards to meet it, hard. Elu's shuddering groan shot sparks through the melody and he bent over Celeborn, finding a rhythm that matched their hearts, singing to him of the stars through which they spun. Another long, slow slide, a deep thrust though still careful, and Celeborn felt as though his nerves had ignited, sending heat and flame into his very core; he moaned, wrapping his legs around Elu's waist, urging him still closer, in a dance his mind could not fathom, but his body knew as intimately as its own form. 

Elu lowered his head, pushing a hand beneath Celeborn, lifting him, as he thrust harder, deeper, as though trying to absorb his lover into himself. He could feel the heat and the song melding with each push into the body beneath his. Light flickered over them, flashing across skin, as Celeborn gasped, trying to take Elu deeper still. The King groaned deep in his throat , 'Celeborn, melethen…' 

Celeborn's hand at the nape of his neck pulled him down and their mouths met in a fierce kiss, Celeborn thrusting his tongue Elu's mouth even as Elu's body took his, faster, harder, yet still with care for the body he melded with so intimately, the pleasure beginning to build into sweet torture so that breath came in fast, panting gasps, movement became frantic, grace and power melding into desperate heat. Elu's hands tightened, gripping Celeborn's hips hard, pulling the younger elf onto him as much as he pushed himself into the yielding, demanding sweetness beneath him. Celeborn threw his head back, exposing the slender column of his throat as his hand found his own hardness and he touched himself, matching the driving rhythm of Elu's body which was as primal as the heartbeat of the earth itself. Stars spun behind his eyes into an endless stream of bursting light which left him blinded with the ecstasy of it. His body felt filled, on the verge of an abyss, begging him to find release so that he might plunge in the silver inferno he knew waited for him, just beyond his reach, growing closer with every desperate movement of their bodies. 

Up and out they moved, hands clenched tight in hair and on hip and shoulder. Elu groaned deep in his throat, feeling the blinding approach of ultimate pleasure. _Not yet! Please, not yet! _ he begged that starlit ecstasy, Give me a few moments more, let me feel him like this a little longer! But the song soared up, beyond his will to control it, into a note of searing purity, up and beyond, taking his fëa with it, twining it with Celeborn's. He reached, body straining, gasping as shattering ecstasy took him, lifting him on a wave of feeeling so intense it was almost pain. Elu threw his head back, crying out, body shuddering, tears burning behind his closed lids. He gave a final thrust, so deep he felt their fëar touch and then white-hot light exploded in his mind as he released the light of Aman, his very strength and essence into Celeborn's body, crying out his name. 

Beneath him, Celeborn felt Elu's body spasm within his. He struggled to hold on, to keep at bay his own imminent release so that he might revel in the spasming of Elu's body within his, the warmth the King spilled into him, filling him utterly. But the song the stars sang to them swept him up, scattering his soul into the night sky, and as Elu's essence filled his body, Celeborn screamed as his own essence flowed up from his soul, spreading heat and light between their bodies, flowing in a molten stream to meld them together. Shudders wracked him, blinding light ran over his skin in crackling streams, pulling him in, prolonging the mindless, drugging ecstasy until it filled his mind utterly. Convulsively, he held to Elu's body, his only anchor in the violent storm of dazzling pleasure, still crying out wordlessly, gasping, struggling to breathe. 

Slowly, slowly, the light faded. Celeborn watched in his mind's eye as the stars flared with each of the aftershocks that ran through his shivering body, slowly resuming their course, their song fading, becoming fainter, echoing in his body and mind, soothing tensed muscles and tired minds. 

Elu moved, mindful of the discomfort their frantic coupling must surely have caused. His eyes opened slowly as he felt a trembling hand on his sweat-sheened body. He stilled, grey eyes meeting shining green. Watching him, Celeborn saw that they were lit with the bright sheen of reverent tears. Elu smiled, and the tears spilled over, so that they fell, warm, onto Celeborn's chest. Celeborn's own eyes filled at the love he saw reflected in Elu's eyes and he touched the moisture on his chest, bring the crystal of Elu's tears to his lips, tasting the salt sweetness of love. With both hands, he framed the strong, beautiful face, sharing the taste, as Elu's body slipped finally from within his own, in a kiss which held their very souls. Their mouths clung, touching, tasting, unable to bear separation, until the need to breathe forced them apart. 

Fetching water from the pool, Elu gently and reverently cleaned them both then he gathered Celeborn's exhausted body against his own, holding him in a possessive embrace, murmuring to him, listening to the slowing breaths against his neck. They lay close, their bodies touching, held safe in the warm aftermath of lovemaking, as Elu pulled the furs over them and lay still, his heart singing to Celeborn's in the soft, star-filled warmth of the night. 


	10. Epilogue

Epilogue

- 

Moonlight fell on Caras Galadhon, lighting all Lorien with sleek pearl. The sounds of merriment and business reached the high talan as folk kindled fires in the clearings and decked themselves with flowers for the Midsummer Festival. A nightingale sent up a trill of melody, and laughter drifted up to follow it. The notes of a harp, played in unsteady scales, showed where an elf child was warming up small hands in time to play their party piece, or a simple dance. 

Celeborn pulled on a sleeveless tunic of soft white silk, damasked with vines, slid a silver armring onto his bare right arm. A summer breeze, filled with the scent of apples, flattened the shirt against his chest and stirred the heavy mithril of his hair tenderly against his neck. 

"Not done yet?" said Galadriel teasingly as she glided, barefoot, onto the deck. In the moonlight she was all crystal, her gown flickering with stitched gems, her hair bound in many falls of lambent gold, twined with snowy ribbon. She smelled of honeysuckle, and her eyes were full of stars. 

"I was thinking," he said, astonished by her, as he always was. He bent to kiss the glimmer of her throat and taste the warth and freshness of the light of Aman on her - a heat he had felt against his mouth only from her, and one other. 

"What of?" 

"I was thinking about other summers, long ago, when the world was younger, and I was younger." 

"Lost in memory? You will grow like an Ent, and put down roots that way," she said lightly, though there was thought behind the merry gaze, "And n'ere wake again, a statue of an elven lord of old, for whom reality and memory have blurred into one." 

He laughed and buckled on a belt of woven silver with a clasp of pearl. "It is not yet so bad as that." 

But she had seen what his eyes rested on, and now she picked it up. It lay, stirring slightly in the breeze, in the cup of her white hands. "This is what makes your thoughts take strange paths? Tell me of it. Tell me what it means." 

A small thing. It was a long, silver-grey gull's feather, with the shaft pierced, so that it could be worn as an ornament in long hair. The quill was encircled by many star-shaped beads of white stone and clear rock crystal, sparkling like drops of dew. Crude, it seemed, by the standards of these later years, a trinket left behind by time and the advances of craft. 

"I would have said it was of Laiquendi work," said Galadriel, looking more closely at it, with the fierce, dispassionate curiosity the Noldor reserved for works of stone, "But that I can feel how ancient it is. The enchantment which preserves it is a powerful one. Is it as old as Doriath?" 

"Older." Celeborn came away from the edge of the flet with a sense of inevitability. It was unfair that he had not said this already, good that he was being forced to do so now, but also not wise to stand above a fatal drop, when discussing a subject so fraught with emotion. "It was made for me over there," he pointed to the blue distance where Tol Brandir stood out of the great river, gulls wheeling about its pine clad slopes, "When the host of the Teleri encamped beside Anduin. Just before the Nandor turned back from the March, many years before we entered Beleriand, and an Age before Doriath." 

"I had no idea your memory reached back so far," Galadriel looked on him with a wonder that made him feel a little guilty, despite his hearts assurances that he was not so. "I thought you born in Menegroth." 

"I was born on the March," he smiled, sat with his back to the trunk of the tree, "At a time when all the Quendi spoke a single language, when weaving and the working of metal was unknown to us. The only Vala we knew was Araw, and the only Calaquendi in the whole of creation, were Elu, Finwe and Ingwe." 

"Is it to be a long story?" she found a stool of wood and stitched leather and sat facing him, with her elbows propped on her knees and her chin in her hands. 

"I do not know. I do not know how many questions you will have, how much you will want to know - even if you will still be speaking to me by the end of it." 

"Of course I will," she said, and he reflected that of course she would say that now, and of course it would mean nothing at the end. 

"Elu it was," he said, "Who made me that gift. My father was a great friend of Olwe and travelled with him, and my grandfather had grown to love Denweg's people and was often with them. I was left with Elu, and he was my teacher, and my role modle and the one I looked up to. I followed him like... like Tilion drawn to Arien across the sky." 

Galadriel smiled, reminiscing, "That did not change. Even in Doriath it was plain to see how greatly you loved him, how broken you were when he was slain." 

"I loved him not so well in Doriath as before." There, it was out, and Galadriel's eyes were puzzled at this piece of nonsense. Born and educated in Aman, she had not made the mental leap an elf of Ennor would at that statement. He shook his head at the need to explain, annoyed and a little embarrassed. 

"You must understand," he said, "That this was before Aman, before we went into the West and were given our laws, and our customs were fledgeling things, born to meet the needs of a darkened world. Between lovers there were only three rules. Not with parent or sibling; Not without love; and if a man got a child he was henceforth responsible for its welfare, forever." 

"These are crude laws," said Galadriel, disapprovingly, 

"They were enough at the time." 

Leaning forward, he took the feather from her hands and its touch was all solace, the memory of a bright, perilous youth in an age of innocence. For a moment it was as though the hands that had made it now touched his. He shuddered in yearning, turned away from the brief weakness with anger. This was not - had not been for thousands of years - the place for such desires. It was unfair. 

"So," he said, "Elu and I had no idea we were dishonouring our future wives, no idea that our desire for one another was wrong - except that I was so young, and we knew my father would not approve." 

"You were lovers?" Galadriel's eyes darkened in shock, then flashed like a mountain storm. She stood up, turned away, her hands clasped tight before her, astonished and appalled, "You lay with him, as with me?" 

He nodded, and did not tell her that it was nothing like, that no comparison could be made, nor ever had been. She was too braced and shocked to hear it. "I must think on this," she said, pacing. "I own myself too furious to speak." Raising her chin she ordered him, as though he were her servant, "Be here when I return." 

"Lady," he said, and rose to watch her leave, "I shall do as I please. But it pleases me to do as you ask." 

Watching her storm away to her own chamber and draw the divider across the entrance pointedly, he wondered if she felt deprived here, where there were no doors to slam. She had not seemed sad, only angry, as she was when people tried to take away what was hers, and he supposed she was considering now how she could make war on the memory of Elu Thingol and emerge the victor. 

Far too reluctantly for his own peace of mind, he put the little ornament back in its box and closed it up into darkness. Then he settled himself to wait until she was ready to come back. 

- 

Galadriel was enraged, and not entirely sure why. All of it such a long time ago, and done in ignorance, long ere Celeborn knew of her, long ere she even existed, for surely she had not been born so long ago. Did it matter? It was over, twenty thousand years ago, and when he _had_ been given the choice he had chosen her. 

She supposed it was her own fault for marrying a Moriquende. It was as Caranthir had said - these Dark Elves had no morals, black in heart and deed and understanding, and perhaps she had expected too much, to hope for Valinorean standards from him. _But I wanted to be the first, the only one to touch him. I wanted him to be mine and no one else's._

Ithil shone upon the white awning which formed the roof of her flet, and pale, milk white light filtered into the room, encompassed her gently. Under its influence some of the anger eased, and she moved, feeling the stroke of silken light across her face. Was her husband not like the moon, she thought; free. Only hers because he chose to be. She should not be like Feanor and try to trap his light, so that she could lock it in a box and horde it to herself, taking it out only when she willed. Perhaps he had lived before her, and perhaps his life and his light were his own. 

With her possessiveness put aside for a moment, she could admit that he showed good taste. She remembered Elu well from Menegroth - the martial and terrifying beauty of him, like a Lord of the Maia at rest. _Perhaps he saw in Elu the same power and the same radiance that I possess, and so in a way this choice is a confirmation of his love for me?_

Unexpectedly, her mind filled with images of the two of them together; of Celeborn younger, eager under the touch of Elu's big, blunt hands, pinned and writhing under the weight and passion of his king. She lingered on the thoughts, her breath speeding, warmed as if by strong wine. Oh, here was an unexpected delight - she had thought to feel jealousy, not heat. He was hers now, after all, and if these thoughts awoke little more than such a need for him, then she could accept them readily enough. She would not compete with a dead man. She would make his love for Elu part of her love for him. 

She rose, steadied herself, calmed her racing heart, and went back. 

In her absence he had returned to the edge of the talan and was looking out and down as if standing guard over all Lorien. Following her thoughts she was suddenly more aware of him, physically, the long slender legs and broad shoulders, bare arms with their swell of muscle, and the tunic of silk so thin it felt warm and soft as skin. She could feel that he was aware of her, wondering what her reaction would be, tense and awaiting condemnation, and she crossed the small space in a dream to wrap her arms around him and press herself into that strong, resiliant back. He breathed out, relieved. 

"I was courted by Lords of every race and high family in Aman," she said, "And not one of them did I see to compare to you. How can I fault him for his desire?" 

He turned and looked at her in odd humility, waiting still. 

"And I cannot fault you for wanting him. Well I remember how fair he was, how magnificent - greatest of Elven Kings of Ennor. I will admit to you that he made my heart flutter on occassion." 

Celeborn laughed at that, and looked at her fondly, "Should I be jealous?" 

She picked the closed box from the talan floor and opened it. "Should _I_?" 

He looked at the love token. The small white and water-clear beads glowed under the moon like falling stars. But he did not touch it. "I will always love him," he said slowly, as if confessing to a terrible crime. "I will always cherish the memories of him. But you... You are my wife. You are the other half of my soul." 

He reached out, resolute, and closed her fingers around Elu's gift. "Take it, and do as you will with it. Whatever is needed for your comfort I am willing to give." 

Seeing how hard he found this surrender, even now, she felt once more a flare of jealousy. But no - what did it prove except that he was loyal, and steadfast? Where he loved once, he loved forever. And he loved her. 

She stroked appreciative fingers down the sleek satin heaviness of his hair, lifted away a lock and plaited the little ornament into it half way up, so that it brushed gently against his collarbone and flickered as he moved. Wilder, he looked, with it in, and less Noldor than he had seemed for a long time. Just as Caranthir had said - like a savage. At that thought another stab of desire went through her, and she blushed, looking away from his expression of wonder. 

"The only thing I do not understand," he said at last, in a tone of awe, "Is how I ever had the fortune to be granted two such loves - so ordinary an elf as I." He stayed her outburst of denial at that, fingertips brushing reverently across her lips. "But I am not such a fool as to turn down love simply because I do not deserve it. Who does, after all?" 

"Who does?" she agreed, and smiled, accepting. She tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and leaned against him confidingly. "Well, my lord, shall we go down to the festival? I believe it is finally time to celebrate many fine summers." 

Covering her hand with his, Celeborn leaned to brush his lips against the silk-soft ivory of her cheek, feeling her love and her beauty as the richest of gifts. He raised his eyes to the horizon, to that far off place in distance and in memory, where the land met the sky in a wash of shadow that, touched by ithil's light, glinted for a moment like the stars off steel-silver hair. It still hurt, even now, that he was gone. 

Yet it was good that she knew, good that there were no longer any secrets between them. Smiling with relief, and with a nod to that far off light, the Lord of Lorien moved with his Lady to join their people below. 

- The End. 


End file.
